


Thank the Fae

by gingerbred



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Colleagues - Freeform, Debt to the Fae, F/M, HP: EWE, POV Severus Snape, Post Battle of Hogwarts, Professor Hermione Granger, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerbred/pseuds/gingerbred
Summary: The Fae have done Severus a favor, and he is greatly in their debt. Every three months, on the solstices and equinoxes, he stops by to pay his respects. 
Apparently it's so unusual a thing these days, both their initial interaction and his sincere and continued thanks, that the Fae decide to give him another gift, whether he think he wants it or not. (Merlin, he's still paying for the *last* boon...)
So you can imagine his surprise when he discovers that he's not the only one with something to thank them for... And isn't it pity that they are so willfully obstinate in their gifting? Surely they could have just *asked*? (He needs a new iron cauldron now that he thinks about it...)
(But he supposes that *would* have been too much to ask from the Fae after all...)





	1. Yule be here for Christmas... Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left to his own devices, Severus would probably speak to virtually no one but himself. So isn't it fortunate that he finds himself such engaging company? When he's not self-loathing, that is.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own bugger all and shan't profit in the least. All hail JKR, the source of all things Potter.

### Yule be here for Christmas... Part 1

Severus crosses the Hogwarts' quad with a determined stride, his black winter cloak swirling behind him dramatically. His long gait carries him quickly across it for what must be the, what, thousandth or maybe ten thousandth time, he muses, since he first came to Hogwarts over twenty-eight years ago. (He does the math and determines ten thousand would be only slightly more than once a day. ' _Merlin, it's been so many more trips across the quad than that. The return trips alone would have doubled the number_ ,' he adds unnecessarily, but most pedantically, and worries briefly if a young Arithmancy professor might be rubbing off on him. He wonders fleetingly, darkly, if traversing the quad after the Dark Lor... (' _Voldemort's_ ') torture should count double, or even triple, before deciding it doesn't matter anymore (' _if it ever did_ ') and pushing on.) Though he's walked this way thousands of times (' _apparently_ '), somehow everything looks so different in the snow. 

He's been here at Hogwarts for all but two of those twenty-eight years when he earned his Potions mastery, oh, and the brief stint in Azkaban twenty odd years ago, oh, and for part of his coma after the (' _second_ ') war. (' _I was sadly conscious after the first_ ,' he thinks wryly.) But he was back in time for his recovery process. (' _Unfortunately._ ') If pressed, he isn't sure he could say which experience was worse, Azkaban or recovery here, Dementors being marginally less disturbing than, and therefore preferable to, the forced cheer of a sea of guilt-plagued Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Fortunately, no one presses him. Ever, really. (' _My curmudgeonly ways have their benefits_ ,' he smirks, altogether too pleased with himself.) 

Someone had calculated the odds (' _damn Arithmancers_ ,' and although he probably can't blame the latest one for that, after all - she'd have only just begun her apprenticeship at the time, he's quite happy to tar her with the same brush) of the Aurors whisking him off to Azkaban (' _yet again_ ') before his (' _relative_ ') innocence could be proven, and he was spirited out of St. Mungo's (' _whilst still comatose, to boot_ ,' he's quick to add, still indignant) to continue recovering here at Hogwarts. (' _For my sins._ ') His comatose state at least meant he was unable to offer counterarguments, which doubtlessly simplified the potentially insurmountably painful process. Say what you will, and he was certainly inclined to grouse by nature, he didn't spend a single minute in Azkaban this time around, so their tactic, simple though it was (' _Gryffindors_ ,' he scoffs, so often in fact, it could practically be mistaken for his mantra), seemed to have borne fruit. Inside these walls, Minerva currently reigned supreme, and her will... well... _was_.

Dumbledore certainly didn't enjoy the same degree of success sparing him from his incarceration after the first war, but these days he can't help thinking that might have been deliberate. And back in the day there had been Dementors there, too. (' _Pity I didn't have my druthers, but isn't that just the way of things?_ ' his inner voice snarks.)

He continues onwards, a wizard on a mission, as he has been once every quarter for the past two and a half years now since the end of the war (' _barring that first midsummer, of course, when I was comatose, to be fair_...'). It's Yule now, and it's time to return to the Forbidden Forest to say 'thanks.' To pay his respects. Severus isn't one to leave a debt owed or a tab open. This will be paid no matter how long it takes. 

In keeping with the season and befitting of the geographical location, snow lies all about, unsurprisingly deep (' _yet crisp and even_ ,' he smirks, the season leaving him not entirely unaffected). If he can stop being an ass for a few minutes, and the beauty of the scene makes him _almost_ the most inclined he's ever been to stop being an ass (' _although that isn't saying much_ '), he would have to admit that it is bleeding _gorgeous_ out here. Positively magical, always assuming Hogwarts could _be_ any more magical than it already is.

Truth be told, he's mellowed a bit since the end of the war. Scarcely a wonder what no longer serving two relentless masters will do for you. That he had been instrumental in, or even outright responsible for, their deaths was just the added bonus. But don't let him fool you, as it in no way began to compensate him for every last bloody member of his known world taking him for the murderer of the (' _apparently_ ') most _beloved_ wizard of all time. (There can never be enough scoffing to get him through that thought in one go. ' _How that **manipulative** son of a witch could pull the wool so thoroughly over the public's collective eyes, I'll never know._ ') 

But having mellowed, he can concede: it's completely magical here now. The pristine dusting of snow on every last thing. The high drifts changing the apparent shape of all the structures into something different, something improbable, something _new_. It's like everything has been kissed, by what he's not sure, but it's simply beautiful. It's also largely deserted, which invariably adds to any place's beauty to his way of thinking.

And it's not just how everything looks, it's the sounds, too. Things are somehow louder and softer at the same time. Scattered and few hushed voices that carry far in the frosty air of a night clear as crystal, perhaps hesitant to break the spell of the evening, although he still has trouble thinking the students could ever be so sensitive. And there, and there, and yes... over there again, the crunch of snow underfoot. The normal silencing charms affect the slap of leather with each footfall on hard surfaces, but do nothing to deaden the crunch caused by displacement of snow and the passer's sheer weight. 

_His_ footsteps don't crunch, of course, because he's applied a lightening spell, which, if applied with sufficient precision, means he doesn't even leave any footprints behind. Years as a spy mean his precision is not only sufficient, but _astonishing_. Anything less would have gotten him killed. (' _Darwinism in action_ ,' he thinks, and scoffs for the nth time today, this time as he wonders how few in these halls would even understand the meaning of that phrase. And then at least one comes to mind, and he quickly changes tack to think on other things. Like how it is no longer strictly necessary for him to obscure his passing since the war came to an end, but then 'strict' is a word that doubtless _all_ associate with him. ' _Unless they're being less generous, which they probably are_ ,' he amends. He sighs and tells himself that doesn't bother him, but deep down there's an echo of a voice claiming ' _that's a lie_.' (True to form, he calls that voice "the sap."))

In his thoughts of Darwinism, he never for a moment considers that that might mean his genes should be passed on, the notion so utterly foreign and removed from his sphere of experience, which speaks completely to his particular set of mental blinders. The meaning for him is clearly distilled to: those with imperfect skills do not survive. And this in turn explains his dogmatic worship of perfection and his bitter acceptance of nothing less from his pupils. And perhaps it couches that strictness in a better, softer light. This is the only way he knew to make survival possible for his students, and yet in his worldview still not even very likely. 

But he's correct - people are rarely generous when it comes to him. ' _Your colleagues_...' begins the sap, but he cuts him off brusquely - ' _are still assuaging their guilt_ ,' although it's been two and a half years now, and if he were fair, their relations have returned more to the collegial, respectful and even tentatively friendly with the passing of time. Different now, to be sure, to before that dreadful year as headmaster, of which conscientiously none speak, and Merlin knows Minerva is fiercely protective and determined to never doubt him again. He does rather enjoy that, he thinks, before wondering darkly if he can test the resilience of that statement with a certain Gryffindor princess. His thoughts recoil from that only half thought notion, before that traitorous voice, the sap, returns even stronger, to point out that that very same princess is now both a colleague and proof positive that the generosity of spirit extended to him most certainly does not _all_ well from guilt. For what had she ever done to feel guilty about? The irritating, if eminently appealing, swot had never treated him with anything less than _respect_. How positively _**irksome**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First ever fanfic, please go easy on me, folks. I haven't had much occasion to use English in the past few decades, but think I haven't mangled things too badly. Concrit appreciated, feedback, too. And who doesn't like a little love?
> 
> In part two, Severus encounters the Fae and Hermione makes an appearance.


	2. Yule be here for Christmas... Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We discover how Severus became involved with the Fae, and that they're not done with him yet. Hermione enters stage left, but isn't feeling chatty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it might help to address Severus' non-ending internal conversations. Picture watching a movie with someone who just will.not.stop their running commentary on everything that happens. Half of the time they're over-eager to prove they're the smartest person in the room, and the other half of the time they can't stop their scoffing and _ruining_ everything for you. They're an incredibly acerbic, intelligent, snarky and yet vulnerable person you inexplicably like rather a lot. Ultimately you're torn between hitting, admiring, snogging or hugging them. That would be this Severus in a nutshell.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own bugger all and shan't profit in the least. All hail JKR, the source of all things Potter. And Shakespeare is the source of "Romeo and Juliet." Never fear, there are _no parallels_ here between SS/HG and the ill-fated pair. (That can't be a spoiler several hundred years on, right?)

### Yule be here for Christmas... Part 2

He approaches the edge of the Forbidden Forest making for a clearing not too far from the border of the wood. The Forest is so forbidding in nature, not merely by name, that few venture here, especially after dark. Although it's very dark indeed (' _not like Muggle population centers with their bloody light pollution_ '), the snow reflects the meager light of the sliver of moon overhead, magnifying it so it's brighter than the first time he ventured here, even though the crescent visible is noticeably thinner. By Christmas this would be dark as pitch. 

He has left everyone else behind him at the castle, hasn't seen another soul in a while, and he likes it that way. (Since the end of the war he finds he actually _likes_ things. ' _Some things._ Few _things. But still..._ ') His destination isn't distant, but isolated. The walk gives him time to reflect, to consider the metaphorical path that has carried him here. He isn't sure that mental preparation is necessary for the task at hand. To be honest, he's rather unclear about most of what he's doing here, but there are a very few things he _is_ completely certain of, and that seems to be sufficient to dictate his behavior for this evening and three others each year. 

A little less than three years ago, when things were coming to a boil with the Dark Lor... (' _Voldemort_ ') and... Potter (he doesn't like thinking of... Potter, so he abandons the thought and rephrases: ' _the Death Eaters and the Order_ '), he found his position increasingly untenable. He had quite publicly ended Dumbledore's life, and he was working unrelentingly to put an end to the power of those who would consider _that_ an achievement. If he were successful, the other victorious parties would be baying for his blood in minutes, assuming he even survived. If he failed to end the Dark regime, the only conceivable conclusion was death, because he would never abandon his mission for anything short of that. Essentially, he was _buggered_.

In the increasingly likely event that the Dark Lor... (' _Voldemort_ ') were to turn on him, the most probable causes of (' _my_ ') death were the Avada and the strike of that thrice damned snake. His assorted charms, spells, jinxes, hexes and curses would help (' _or not_ ') with the first; there was nothing but practice to be done for it, and he was getting plenty of it. But that damn serpent... He had always liked snakes, as a Slytherin it was almost de rigueur, but Nagini was likely to put him off the entire Serpentes suborder for life. (' _A touch dramatic; it's hardly of consequence when your life expectancy can measured in_ weeks.' He has a point.)

There was no one to ask for help, no one to consult, and if the literature were to be believed, nothing to be done for her bite except after the fact, as with the antivenin he brewed for Arthur Weasley, and that would almost definitely be too late. There was no way to convince anyone from the Dark that there was a legitimate reason for a potion for Nagini's bite. That only occurred by Voldemort's leave (' _none but the most stupid would have fallen for that, and they in turn would have been unable to help me_ '). And the Light just wanted him _dead_. 

So he had chased down every lead on his own, hadn't he? An obscure tome from the liquidation of the Gringotts vault of a Death Eater who had met an ignominious end had suggested that some of the ingredients from the antivenin could be had in a stronger form (' _if only one knew where to get them_ '). An oft-overlooked later work from Libatius Borage (' _ignored mostly because the wizarding world thought by that time he had had a few too many Fiestas in bottles..._ ,' he scoffs) hinted at an even obscurer tome, which he had been fortunate enough to discover at the _Malfoys'_ , of all places (' _never again say Lucius was good for nothing_ '). _That_ work in turn claimed that a long lost method of antivenin preparation could yield a potion that would act as an _inoculation_ (' _if only one could learn how to brew it_ '), and not just for Asiatic serpents, as Borage's interest might incline one to fear. (' _Were one given to fear, which I am not. Regardless, Nagini's origins are still entirely unclear either way..._ ') No stone had been left unturned. 

And so it was that he found himself under a waxing crescent moon in the Forbidden Forest on Beltane roughly thirty-two months ago, desperately hoping that there was such a thing as the Fae, that the legends hadn't been over-exaggerated (' _certainly gnomes, elves and pixies don't live up to the lore_ '), that they could provide what he needed, and ultimately could be convinced to _do_ so. 

And he got _incredibly_ lucky. 

A spell older than record (' _that it was a stroke of immense fortune to have learned, thanks to_ Horace's _penchant for collecting, of all things_ ') led him to a clearing so close by he could _walk_ (' _although admittedly Apparation makes that detail far less crucial than the other factors_ ,' but it _was_ a fine coincidence and made everything feel somehow... fated). The Fae were _real_ and (' _improbably_ ') inclined to aid him. (' _That does not happen. **Ever**._ ' It was so unlikely that something like this could work out in his favor, particularly without months of final preparations, that he lacks the terms to even think on it properly.) They gifted him the ingredients _and_ the resources to brew his potion, which he was miraculously able to do in the barely twenty-four hours before that _farce_ of a duel with Minerva ensued (' _all while surreptitiously thwarting the Carrows, shielding the intellectually challenged student body, and inconspicuously dodging the recalcitrant and climactically_ mutinous _staff..._ ' the overwhelming frustration is still evident years later in the venomous thought), forcing him to flee the castle. And with the potion intus, it was only a day later that damned snake struck. 

_Merlin_. 

He isn't a spiritual man. No one would call him kind or even mannered (' _inaccurate assessment_ ,' he is quite polished; he is simply not _polite_. ' _But perhaps they aren't using the same definition of "manners." "Social behavior or habits" is suitably neutral, after all_...'). But he does recognize beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had been beyond fortunate.

_Lucky_.

How... _uncharacteristic_.

Although he has an imperfect understanding at best of what is expected of him in the aftermath of such a bleeding miracle (' _the relevant literature is practically non-existent_ ,' he sneers), he is _certain_ that paying the Fae his respects on their sacred days would not go amiss. This is fitting; this is right. He _feels_ it. And so here he is.

He still doesn't like the clearing. The woods thin until he sees a glade, surrounded, save a small gap, by barrows that make it seem more of a dell. Entering the space through that gap, he feels simultaneously trapped and exposed within its confines, a contradictory response that leaves him ill at ease. 

He has been almost completely immersed in the wizarding world since he was eleven. And thanks to his pure-blood mother, he had had some exposure to the culture before he attended Hogwarts, unlike the majority of muggle-borns and many other half-bloods. He's not easily surprised by what this world has to offer. But the scene unfolding before him _is_ surprising nevertheless.

If Dumbledore and the Weasley twins had combined forces, pulled out all the stops, and tried to set the most absurd scene for a Bacchanalia, it would _still_ not live up to the Fae celebration in front of him. For a veteran of Voldemort's dark revels, it was utterly innocent. Harmless. Except he could feel that it _wasn't_. Not in the least. What it (' _thankfully_ ') lacked in perversions, it more than made up for in raw power. He could feel it thrumming under his skin, coursing up his arms. The fine hairs at the nape of his neck and all along his arms were standing on end and the air was charged, like just before a lightning strike. The whole cozy nest felt like a physical representation of the fantastic and impossible. It almost hurt to look at it.

He lets out a sharp breath and gathers himself before approaching the female seated at the center of the long table before him. The conclave is dazzling and sparkling, vibrant and breathtaking in its beauty but can't hold a candle (' _or fairy light_ ') to her. Everything gravitates around her, and although it's hard to pinpoint, she is somehow a bit more of everything than everyone else around her. Queen Mab's hair is wilder, her manner more charismatic, more beautiful, more energetic, her eyes more fiery than all the rest, and he couldn't keep his eyes off of her if he tried. But he has no inclination to do so. 

In many respects, a troublemaking voice pipes up, Mab reminds him of someone, an esteemed colleague, but he thinks neither one would appreciate the comparison and quickly pushes the notion aside. (' _She comes to mind altogether too often anyway_ ,' he considers, before the sap needles ' _at least seven times in the past half an hour by my count, but I was hardly paying attention_...' He is very nearly scandalized. He _hates_ the sap.)

The air smells of pine and cedar, even though he knows there are no cedars among the surrounding trees, and underneath it is a note of cinnamon that doesn't escape his sensitive nose. The Yule incense of the Fae.

He bows low, reaches deep into his pocket, extracts a vessel and enlarges it silently and wandlessly, and proffers the spiced cider he has brewed for this occasion to the Fae seated before him. It suits their proclivities and the season. And it has turned out delectably, if he says so himself. He had considered brewing some for the staff party... He shakes it off, grumbling: his focus is pants.

"You please us, Wizard, with your gift." There's an odd smile playing on her lips, like she sees through him and finds him... droll. It's not mean or dismissive, in fact it's almost fond, with an affectionate note, as one might regard a favorite pet. Like she's been in his head and finds his thoughts... amusing. It's disconcerting. 

As one of her consorts comes forward to accept the cider, she resumes, "it pleases us further that you continue to visit." Still silent, he merely nods: it's a given; he would never have considered anything else. It's an hour or two, four times a year, not even a day's work per annum. His life is worth that at least to him. "Few of your kind turn to us in need these days. And fewer still show respect after the fact. I would see your happiness increased as a token of my favor." His skin prickles in apprehension at her words, but he hasn't time to wonder.

"Love, such a tender thing." (Is he being _addressed_ now? Calling him "Love" like their old widowed neighbor in Cokeworth? ' _Surely not_.') "You cannot continue to beat love down." He flinches slightly and hopes that wasn't a pun. Can Fae be inappropriate? She continues, "Here, now, let it sink in a bit," he winces now sure the answer is 'yes,' "before you turn tail and run, for surely you are no coward."

And not for the fist time, he finds himself wondering what Mab knows of him. "Coward" is surely a deep-seated clarion call to action for him. (And for that matter, would Fae even say "surely"? The overuse is strictly his own of late.) Far too little is known of the creatures he faces, and much of that is contradictory and completely unreliable. But in his desperation over two and a half years ago, he turned to them for help. That he is here to thank the Fae at all borders on a miracle and is largely their doing. And when he stops being an ass, as he is (almost) inclined to do today, he is _truly_ thankful for that. 

She's standing now, an improbable vision in front of him, beautiful, delicate, pale and long-haired, _surreal_ , gossamer clothed despite the cold. She reaches up and caresses his nose. Smiling, she tells him, "Give it time. Give it thought. Do not fight it, and it shall be so." And with that he realizes he's been dismissed. They return to their celebration and he exits the clearing, feeling a sense of relief and loss creeping up on him all at once.

He has barely reached the line of trees when he hears it. There. Soft, to be sure, but footsteps. Someone is coming. He quickly checks his path to reassure himself (' _unnecessarily_ ') that he has left no footprints. There are none. (' _Of course._ ') Whoever approaches does so for their own reasons; he is not being pursued. But Mab has only just confirmed that few of his kind seek out the Fae, and he can't stifle his curiosity - who else knows their secret, and what business do they have here?

He moves quickly and stands between the trees, completely unobtrusive but (still) not inclined to trust to luck. He is a wizard after all. He casts a Disillusionment Charm and waits. He doesn't have to wait long before a certain young colleague comes into view. For an incredibly brief moment, he finds himself wondering if his thinking of her has somehow lured her here. Has Mab somehow caused this to happen? He catches himself almost immediately and banishes the foolish thoughts (' _magical thinking, indeed_ ,' he jeers) and edges forward to observe more closely what transpires.

It's Professor Granger alright, and she's wearing a necklace crafted of woven ivy and bearing an unusual bouquet of evergreen boughs and wheat stalks dusted with flour, decorated with clove-spiked apples and oranges. Undoubtedly her tribute. (' _It looks like Longbottom lent her a hand with that. I wonder what she told him it was for_.') A fresh sprig of mistletoe is pinned to the chest of her dark green robes. With these accessories her presence here is clearly no more chance than his, and her lack of hesitation and familiarity with the terrain are sure signs that she is not here for the first time asking a boon, but like himself is paying tribute for one received. 

(' _Interesting_.')

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concrit appreciated, feedback, too. And who doesn't like a little love? 
> 
> If it gets too hard to keep the two internal voices apart, people, _please_ nudge me and I'll try to come up with different formatting. Otoh, later it might become more clear why I haven't done that from the outset, if you can follow my thinking that long.
> 
> In the next chapter, Severus and Hermione trek back to the castle. Together. And wonder of wonders, conversation might actually take place. Out loud, even. 
> 
>  
> 
> And lo, a small excerpt from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" Act I, Scene IV, in which Romeo is an emo flobberworm, and Mercutio is fond of questionable wordplay and racy puns. 
> 
> ROMEO  
>  I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.   
> Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.  
> MERCUTIO  
>  And, to sink in it, should you burden love—  
>  Too great oppression for a tender thing.  
> ROMEO   
> Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,   
> Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.  
> MERCUTIO  
>  If love be rough with you, be rough with love;   
> Prick love for pricking and you beat love down.
> 
> The play has a couple of cameos in this work, but it isn't necessary to be familiar with it.
> 
>  
> 
> Here's hoping everyone has a safe and Happy New Year's.


	3. Yule be here for Christmas... Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We discover that misery hasn't a clue how it feels about company, for Severus isn't as alone in this experience as he thinks. We catch up a bit with Hermione and find out what Neville has been doing. 
> 
> Hermione still has a soft spot for elves, quelle surprise, and Serverus can't help shit stirring. _He clearly needs a new pastime._

> **Notes:**  
>  Happy New Year, everyone!
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  I own bugger all and shan't profit in the least. All hail JKR, the source of all things Potter. 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Last Chapter:**  
>  It's Professor Granger alright, and she's wearing a necklace crafted of woven ivy and bearing an unusual bouquet of evergreen boughs and wheat stalks dusted with flour, decorated with clove-spiked apples and oranges. Undoubtedly her tribute. (' _It looks like Longbottom lent her a hand with that. I wonder what she told him it was for_.') A fresh sprig of mistletoe is pinned to the chest of her dark green robes. With these accessories her presence here is clearly no more chance than his, and her lack of hesitation and familiarity with the terrain are sure signs that she is not here for the first time asking a boon, but like himself is paying tribute for one received. 
> 
> (' _Interesting_.')

  


### Yule be here for Christmas... Part 3

Despite creeping so close that his Disillusionment Charm would probably be insufficient to keep him completely hidden from view (' _if one were appropriately cautious_ '), or at least so that obscurity is no longer a given, he banks on the remoteness of the location to leave him undiscovered. He had noticed while in the glade that the sounds of the forest around him had receded, and conversely he finds himself unable to hear anything but short snatches of the conversations now taking place within. Jockeying for position, he can see a bit of what transpires between the young Arithmancer and the Fae. 

Professor Granger approaches with a suitably deferential air (' _but she tends towards the overly polite anyway_ ' he thinks, almost offhandedly, before the sap laughs, ' _like you'd be any judge of that._ '). Once she reaches the table, she is greeted by Queen Mab and, as he had, passes her tribute to a member of Mab's party. Mab looks visibly pleased, words are exchanged. He can't help noticing that, unlike himself, Granger speaks with the Fae queen. His colleague seems respectful, but not intimidated, almost at ease or even pleased to be there. That could even be an air of wonder... (Try as he might, he can't seem to feel entirely comfortable in the Fae's presence. There's a momentary flash of envy before his attention is drawn back to the women in front of him.)

Mab is saying something about looking forward to Granger's visits, which makes sense, he considers. There's a difference between appreciation for the attention _he_ pays the Fae, and actually finding themselves in company they _enjoy_. (He's not offended; _he'd_ prefer Granger's presence to his own, too.) And then the Fae queen stands, and much as she had done with him, she reaches out and touches the young witch's face. He's not sure from this angle, but he has the feeling she might be stroking Granger's lips. (' _Well, that's not odd in the least_ ,' he snarks, distancing himself instinctively from any thoughts about Hermione's lips. But the sap can't seem to hold his tongue, ' _certainly no more so than petting that beak of yours_.' The sap is clearly in rare form today.)

Mab is speaking, and now oddly he can hear her more clearly. He should wonder why, but is too caught up in what she is saying; it's the same phrase Mab used with him. "I would see your happiness increased as a token of my favor." And then she says some more, but this once again is not clearly audible. 

His skin prickles anew in apprehension at her words, this time in concern for his colleague. It doesn't occur to him that the same concern could or perhaps should be directed towards himself. That speaks both to how far his empathy has come since the war's end, and to the now deeply ingrained behavior he had exhibited for so long during the conflict: protecting others with no thought for himself. He is so distracted by his thoughts, that he fails to notice that the young woman has now turned to leave the clearing and is nearing the position where he stands disillusioned by the gap in the barrows. Immediately in her path.

As movement causes the Disillusionment Charm to flicker a bit, rendering the disillusioned more noticeable, he remains perfectly still. He practically holds his breath, although his Silencing Charms should make that unnecessary. The young witch passes very close to him indeed, but continues on without note. He almost exhales in relief; it's a gut reaction, which on the surface makes little sense. What harm would there have been in meeting her here? But before he can puzzle that through, Granger stops, turns and raises her wand. (' _Circe_.' He hadn't even seen her draw her wand. ' _Good reflexes_.') She's looking intently about, and he can feel her magic casting seeking spells about him, flowing past him. She has somehow sensed his presence and is obviously looking for _him_.

He rather likes that thought, even if it isn't personal.

"Who's there?" she calls out into the dark, her voice clear and steady, with not a hint of a tremble. The tip of her wand is now very bright with a silently cast Lumos. She's not yet afraid, but she's cautious. He likes that, too. No shrinking violet, a powerful witch in her own right, but no fool. The Forbidden Forest is a dangerous place, and they have both had to venture from the relative safety of the paths to reach the Fae's enclosure. Caution is a very appropriate response. 

"Save us some time and show yourself," she calls out, and he feels waves of her magic rippling around, searching, searching. Some of the magic is decidedly grey, and he approves. _Wholeheartedly_. The ridiculous restrictions the Ministry likes to apply to "light" and "dark" magic anger him, almost unreasonably. He is very pleased to see one of the Golden Trio do what makes _sense_ instead of what has arbitrarily been deemed "acceptable." He's not quite sure her approach would ultimately be successful - he's incredibly good at what he does, but his purpose here isn't to unsettle her. Briefly he thinks that it _would_ be nice to be able to practice his art, sparring with a competent partner, but doesn't wish to worry her further. Disillusioning, he speaks to attract her attention, in the hope of not startling her. 

"Good evening, Professor Granger."

Startled nevertheless, she quickly turns towards him before visibly relaxing completely, which tells him something about how she has come to view him since the war. (He, for his part, remains unsure that her blind trust is a good thing. ' _Certainly not a sensible response_.') That she doesn't have to turn far to face him is probably a testament to the efficacy of the spells she was casting (' _or perhaps dumb luck_ ').

"Good Yule, Professor Snape," she responds smiling easily, wand now lowered, but her Lumos still augmenting the meager moonlight. Although she can't possibly have the advantage he has of knowing that they have both sought out the Fae, she (' _doubtlessly_ ') takes a stab in the dark that his presence here serves the same purpose. It's lacking in subtlety, but she remains a Gryffindor, after all. (' _Gryffindors_.')

Not that it's as bad as Longbottom, who has since gone on to become Head of House in the tower, Severus can't help thinking and frowning imperceptibly, in addition to Longbottom's role as the new Herbology Professor. It is unusual for a professor with so little seniority to become a head of house (' _if ever a house should select based on criteria of emotions alone... Who needs experience?_ ' the sarcasm is practically palpable), but the war has left them (he doesn't notice his inclusive choice of pronoun) strapped for qualified personnel, those more senior seem often eager to slink off and lick their war wounds (he thinks this with a certain lack of generosity, overlooking entirely that he would have done _exactly_ the same if practicable). 

Granger blessedly declined to be considered for the Gryffindor Head position. It leaves her with more leeway in her treatment of students, and she shows noticeably less bias towards members of her house than she had been inclined to in days past. A decided relief. (He doesn't for a moment consider that favoritism of the Slytherin students used to be practically a defining characteristic of his. Had he done so, he'd have immediately defended his actions with counterbalancing the systemic abuse of power in favor of the Gryffindors on the part of a certain ex-Headmaster. (' _Or what was Albus' excuse for the point manipulations?_ ') In addition to simply being _just_ , particularly as he was the only Slytherin on staff, it was all the more necessary to maintain his cover.)

To be fair, in the wake of the war Professor Snape has become a great deal more even in his treatment of his students. Truthfully, they _all_ rather annoy him, half of the problem stemming from the course material, and the other half intrinsic to his pupils. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins (' _in descending order of annoyance_ ') _all_ manage to try his last nerve, and he's (' _nearly_ ') as likely to take points from the one as the other. But he does have the best safety record of any Potions professor ever, all while his students consistently achieve higher OWLs and more NEWTs than those of any other wizarding school. Slughorn couldn't begin to dream of results like his. Something resembling pride flits across his face at the thought. It's definitely an improvement over the vague disdain that thinking of Longbottom seems to yield. It's unfortunate, of course, that Professor Granger has no way of knowing _that's_ what she has made him think of when he gets that expression, but that escapes him completely.

His young colleague smirks slightly, recognizing that he has once again gotten lost in the rabbit warren of his mind. She is standing now practically in front of him, still smiling and appearing (' _oddly_ ') pleased to see him, and she shakes him from his thoughts, "Heading back to the castle? Care to join me? It's almost time for supper." And sounds not averse to his company. _Strange_.

He hasn't properly considered what to tell her, although he's had a few minutes now to think it through. He's given no thought to why he should say he was here, and now he finds himself a bit stuck. He lacks the palette of socially acceptable niceties that would extricate him smoothly from her company, and he seems strangely unwilling to give offense in light of her frankly warm greeting. (That he just moments ago thought of her company as a conceivably desirable thing is already long forgotten.) And so he unexpectedly finds himself nodding and turning with her to join her for the trip back to the castle. It half surprises them both.

"Indeed. It's getting cold and late, and I'm feeling a bit peckish," he hears himself saying, and knows it's _utter_ rubbish. Neither of them should be able to feel the cold, if they're worth their salt and their Warming Charms are remotely competent. And _that_ was definitely an over-share. (' _Peckish_ ,' he scoffs.)

But she doesn't seem to object to the drivel he's spewing, and together they begin to make their way back home. "I've noticed the food has been even better than usual this week," she chirps (he's certain that's called "chirping"). "I was wondering, is this the result of having fewer servings to prepare, given that most of the students and staff are home for the break, or are the elves putting in an extra effort for the holidays?"

So much about this makes him smile. (Yes, _smile_.) She's clearly bursting with curiosity to know what he was doing with the Fae. But she restrains herself and tries to make _conversation_ instead. He almost laughs. It's _delightful_. He can see the exertion written plainly on her face. She's no Slytherin, she'll never be, but it's a good effort, he'll give her that. And _then_ there's the completely breezy mention of elves. If he didn't (' _very_ ') clearly remember the SPEW debacle, he'd never guess that was one of her sticky wickets. She's clearly matured some, and it's a relief. And then there's the attempt at _interactive_ conversation. She's not lecturing him, but politely asking his opinion. And he is so... pleased (yes: _pleased_ ), that he almost overlooks her use of the word "home" for anywhere _but_ Hogwarts, and makes a mental note to ask her about that. But perhaps more subtly than she would. 

"A bit of both, but more the latter than the former," he answers, treating her question as a serious enquiry. He still hasn't decided how he wants to handle the conversation respective the Fae, and he is enjoying watching her wrestle, with some success, with her near boundless curiosity. 

She obviously still doesn't fully grasp how house elves work, and ever the pedagogue, he can't help trying to fill that gap. "The effort involved in feeding the entire student body and staff is hardly more than feeding the few of us who remain here during the break. There is fractionally more energy required for an elf to magically produce more of something. The primary drain lies in the different tasks. So making ten or a hundred beds versus one is not as energy intensive as making a bed and dusting the room, if you follow? The primary effort is in the visualization of the task. Once visualized, it is very nearly realized."

"So all the special order breakfasts put them out?" she asks, reaching the logical conclusion and sounding somewhat horrified, and he wonders if this was such a safe line of conversation after all. Too late. He's committed, and so he just _goes_ for it.

"If you'd care to convey to the students that they should limit their requests in the future..." he dangles in front of her, aware that he might be creating a monster. She definitely looks mortified, but he can see the resolution already beginning to form on her face. _Marvelous_. He is reasonably certain that his gastronomic tastes are so close to the mainstream that he should be safe from any inconvenience this could conceivably cause. But the one or the other colleague with a fondness for esoteric coffee orders (' _like Professor Granger herself_ ,' he smirks) will doubtlessly find themselves guilted to action (' _or inaction, as the case may be_ ') in the near future. Oh, it's _lovely_. He makes a note to keep an eye on that, and begins formulating a bet with himself how long it will take before that plays out. (' _And what are the chances that Minerva's black pudding and haggis will fall victim to the Great Granger House Elf Energy Conservation Measures of 2000?_ ' he can't stifle a smile. ' _Quite likely, I should say_.') And the added beauty of it is, no one will hold him responsible for this particular (' _and utterly avoidable_ ') bit of chaos. 

He has altogether too much free time on his hands and too little to challenge him since Voldemort's fall. If he doesn't watch it, he'll probably get in trouble. But he's not sure he'd mind that. He's beginning to develop an almost mischievous streak. Certainly by his standards. It is _amazing_ what the absence of mad masters will do for one's spirits. 

She's clearly disappeared down a rabbit hole of her own, and he decides to stop her before she goes any further and to use the opportunity to gather more information on his growing list of "things to clear." She and Longbottom are the only two new staff members this year, and although the Herbologist is a head of house, it hasn't escaped Severus' notice that Longbottom has not remained at Hogwarts for the holidays. He can't help wondering if the fact that Longbottom married Miss Abbott was the deciding factor in permitting him to skive off whilst requiring the less fortunate Miss Granger to remain. Surely she has loved ones with whom she would have preferred to celebrate the season. Although he _has_ noticed that she seems to spend the vast majority of the holidays here, he isn't certain to what extent that was determined by her excelerated course of study (she finished her Arithmancy program in a record year and a half by working through all the breaks. ' _Swot_.'). This would have been her first holiday since completion of her Arithmancy Master, and he finds it noteworthy that she has been forced (?) to remain in the castle yet again. Worth pursuing, in any event.

"Was Minerva so unkind as to saddle you with holiday duty? I can't believe it of her. _And_ she let Longbottom leave?" And... that makes it sound like he's more interested in Minerva's thought processes, and then _defending_ her (' _ha!_ '), so that's fine. Or was it too transparent after all?

"No," she answers with a soft laugh, "nothing so unfair as that. As Head of House, Neville would have had to stay for the holidays. I had no other plans, so I volunteered to stand in for him so he could spend the time with Hannah instead."

He pauses for a moment, wondering how _she_ could _not_ have had plans. He decides he would prefer to hear nothing about... Potter, and has absolutely no desire whatsoever to hear anything about her love life. He practically shudders at the thought. He chooses the clear choice, a guaranteed safe option, and almost blithely proceeds, "and didn't you wish to spend time with your parents for Christmas?" 

The obvious pain in her eyes makes him wince. Literally. (' _Merlin_.' He is _grievously_ out of practice.) He schools his face. (' _So_ clearly _not a safe choice then. Damn. What on earth happened?_ ') He doesn't have to ask; she volunteers the information of her own accord. She tells him how she obliviated her own muggle parents during the thrice damned final year before the battle to keep them safe. How she sent them off abroad. How her plan worked, insofar as the Death Eaters were unable to find them, and she was able to locate them successfully in the weeks following the final battle. Except she had been unable to undo the spell, and... The story ends as tragedies must. Her parents were alive, but hadn't the foggiest notion who she was. Effectively, she was an orphan; alone. And that by her own hand. Voldemort had much to answer for.

Severus has been alone for so long that it no longer makes any difference to him (he tells himself almost convincingly), his parents long since passed, and that hadn't necessarily been a great loss either. But for someone from a loving family, as she so clearly was, that loss must have hurt a great deal. He's sorry he asked, sorry to have rubbed salt in her wounds. He wonders how come he didn't know about any of this, how he could have missed this. She was somehow diminished after the war; that much he had recognized. He just never knew why. And he hadn't asked. (' _It wasn't my place_...' but it feels weak. Unconvinced.) In his defense, he was probably still comatose while things were acute. (Is that sufficient, as defenses go?) 

He contemplates why he hadn't heard anything about this in the interim. And then he realizes the obvious, and fleetingly feels (stunningly) dimwitted (and ignores _absolutely_ the element of commonality such moments seem to have of late (and whose proximity)). He suddenly understands beyond a doubt why the issue with her parents has gone unmentioned. The young witch is incredibly _lucky_ that she wasn't brought up on charges for this. 

It's patently absurd, but no less true. And talking about the situation would only attract unwanted scrutiny. Which makes it all the more... _significant_ that she was trusting him with her story. Merlin, she was literally handing him the keys to her continued freedom. He had had enough experience in recent years worrying about his own potential incarceration in the aftermath of his service as a double agent. It had provided him with ample opportunity to think long and hard about exactly the situation she might be facing. She did what she _had to_ do. No one _else_ would or could help, she acted to save lives - _successfully_ , and now people might presume to judge her for it? To _punish_ her for it? Just _thinking_ about it made him angry. _Livid_. The _Ministry_ had much to answer for. Perhaps he and Shacklebolt should have... _words_. He is almost sure of it.

And he wants to reassure her that it was indeed necessary. So very much so. That her actions absolutely and beyond any doubt to his _own personal knowledge_ saved her parents' lives. That he knew _for a fact_ that there were standing orders to _kill_ her parents if found. Unpleasantly. That her sacrifice was worthwhile, _unquestionably_. He needs to make sure she understands how idiot-ridden the Ministry is and, to some extent, the Order was. That they should go to such ridiculous lengths to save Potter's loathsome Aunt Petunia and her wretched family, but leave Hermione's unprotected and vulnerable is _beyond_ reasoning. And he continues with all the passion and fury these injustices and demonstrations of willful stupidity or outright incompetence bring out in him and he tells her... absolutely _**none**_ of this. It's all in his head.

Pathetically, he manages a very weak, "I'm so very sorry for your loss," and then his voice, that voice, sort of strangles and... breaks.

And today he was being less of an ass... (sigh.)

But her Lumos is still going strong, and when he stopped, she did, too. Her arm raised almost reflexively, lighting his face. And she's looking at him, really looking, and he was right: he's gotten rusty. Because as those thoughts race and that tempest _rages_ through him, she can see much of it play out on his face. She's not a legilimenz, and it's not _all_ clear, but it's clear _enough_. He is so obviously _angry_ on _her_ behalf, and she's moved. Genuinely moved.

And so despite her evident pain, she smiles at him, and her smile is _encouraging_ , accepting and... _appreciative_ (?) for reasons he can't begin to fathom. In the least. And his thoughts have softened his demeanor... and that smile just does the rest.

He digs deep. Very deep. He pushes past his fractious and taciturn nature and reaches and then _finds_ something he didn't even know he had within him and manages to _tell her_ that she _unequivocally_ saved her parents' lives, and she should take some consolation from that. 

There. 

And then she still looks receptive, grateful, and somehow he stretches his limits just that little bit more and actually opens his mouth and, perhaps a bit stiffly, says... that the Order should have protected her parents, and how unfair he thought the Ministry had been to her, and that they should have explicitly granted her a full pardon. And provided _assistance_ , if only on principle. (It's not that he thinks there was anything to be done for her parents per se, but he feels very strongly that she shouldn't have been left to her own devices to try to sort it.) She _deserved_ that. All of that. He somehow says _all_ of that... 

He blinks. 

He swallows. _Audibly_. At the moment he barely recognizes himself. But he felt it should be said, and he's glad he did so.

It was maybe five or six sentences in total. (' _And one was a run on, and another didn't meet the minimum requirements to qualify as a sentence_.' ' _Pedant_.' He can virtually _hear_ the smirk. ' _Just what_ exactly _would those requirements be_...') And those sentences are not earth shattering or great, although vocabulary laden. But to _her_ , right now, especially with the holidays approaching, it really means the world. 

She's not a fool. In some ways she understands him in this situation better than he understands himself. She is _certain_ , and correct in thinking, that he sees parallels between them. She can imagine that what he says in support of her stems at least in part from a latent wish that someone, anyone, had supported _him_ in a similar fashion. But ultimately she is also _sure_ that he completely believes the truth of everything he has just told her, and has done so because he considers it a moral imperative. It won't have been comfortable for him, and he did it anyway. That's quite something.

What he doesn't know is that through much of the period where the problems came to a head, she had struggled, and fiercely, not just with the Ministry but also with _Harry_. She had kept running into roadblocks and getting frustrated by the lack of support, all as comforting but useless noises were constantly being made by people demanding _her_ unflagging support whilst providing none of their own. They were so eager to trot her out for official events, and then they would turn around and tell her how lucky she was that they hadn't _convicted_ her. 

She was losing her patience, and then Harry, _Harry_ , kept telling her to try to see things from the _Ministry's_ perspective. After all, she was indisputably _guilty_ , and they could hardly afford to be seen as partial. And wasn't it _really_ a stroke of _exceptional_ good fortune that they hadn't succumbed to the pressure to make an example of her? And then she completely lost her rag and labeled him a Ministry apologist. 

Except that last bit may have been all in her head. 

Harry never knew how she felt about his lack of support; she didn't have the heart or the fight left in her to tell him. She kept it inside and slunk off back to Hogwarts and buried herself in her studies feeling more alone than ever before. And _maybe_ Harry had a bit of a point, but frankly it's incredibly _nice_ to have someone just take your side for once. 

So she finds she can't stop looking at Severus. And he in turn is growing restless under her gaze. 

And she stares at him. 

She goggles. She makes a choking sound. And then in a flurry of movement she launches herself directly at him and her arms wrap tightly around his neck... And she's... _hugging_ him.

His arms went up instinctively at the movement, and then realizing there was no imminent threat (' _define "threat"!_ ' something roars), just sort of hang there in the air for a breath before closing briefly, tentatively across her back, and he finds himself with a warm armful of witch.

  


_Merlin_.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concrit appreciated, feedback, too. And who doesn't like a little love?
> 
> In the next chapter, our heroes aren't out of the woods yet... They still have a ways to the castle and are working diligently on defining awkward. ~~Additionally, we get an update on miscellaneous redheads.~~
> 
> ETA: Slight change in plan, we skip the Weasley scoop in favor of a peek at what happened with Hermione and Queen Mab, and we get a chance to see things from Hermione's point of view.
> 
>  
> 
> A request for **help** , if anyone's inclined:  
> I am doing something wonky with the formatting. I use a tablet and usually have the option of clicking on something that makes the text appear larger on stories on AO3, except for, say, mine, where I can't. I'd google it, but I am clearly lacking the vocabulary to express it. (Googling "thingie" isn't all that helpful.) If anyone can point me in the right direction, I'd appreciate it. I'd love to get the HTML or whatever formatting right.  
> Cheers,  
> Ginger


	4. Yule be here for Christmas... Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes aren't out of the woods yet... And they're working diligently on defining awkward. 
> 
> We get a chance to see things from Hermione's point of view.

> **Notes:**  
>  Slight change in plan, we skip the Weasley scoop in favor of a peek at what happened with Hermione and Queen Mab, which I think provides more insight into her behavior over the next couple of chapters.
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  I don't own any of this and won't profit from it. All props to JKR, the fount of all things Potter canon.  
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Last Chapter:**  
>  Frankly, it's incredibly _nice_ to have someone just take your side for once.
> 
> So she finds she can't stop looking at Severus. And he in turn is growing restless under her gaze. 
> 
> And she stares at him. 
> 
> She goggles. She makes a choking sound. And then in a flurry of movement she launches herself directly at him and her arms wrap tightly around his neck... And she's... _hugging_ him.
> 
> His arms went up instinctively at the movement, and then realizing there was no imminent threat (' _define "threat"!_ ' something roars), just sort of hang there in the air for a breath before closing briefly, tentatively across her back, and he finds himself with a warm armful of witch.
> 
> _Merlin_.

  


### Yule be here for Christmas... Part 4

-~HG/SS~-

Hermione's not exactly in a good place. ( _Well, she's at Hogwarts, so that's rather good, as things go._ 'Actually, _given I'm technically still in the Forbidden Forest, maybe that was correct the first time_.') But emotionally, well, honestly, emotionally things are a bit of a muddle and have been for quite some time, if she's honest. And to make matters worse, Queen Mab has just said some things to her that have got her thinking ( _probably spinning her wheels_ ), and she isn't quite sure what to make of it. 

She's been coming quarterly to pay her respects to the Fae since her first visit on Midsummer two and a half years ago. She enjoys these visits and looks forward to them. Although nominally she's here to pay tribute, she truly considers herself privileged for the look this permits her into the Fae's world. Usually she leaves their celebrations with a sense of peace and wonder, but not this time. This time Mab has left her all at sixes and sevens. 

For one thing, the Fae's queen told her that she's lonely. That's a very bizarre thing to have to be _told_. (' _One would think one would notice it oneself first, but apparently one would be mistaken_...') But it makes (' _some_ ') sense given the rest of what the faery said. She began by saying she'd like to see Hermione's "happiness increased" which is certainly odd (' _but sounds pleasant enough on the face of things, all considered_ '). 

The faery followed by telling Hermione that she has been isolating herself for too long (' _probably correct_ '), and that she is getting lost in her own inner world. ( _She's introverted and knows it; so that's probably a given_.) Then Mab asserted that Hermione should open up to those around her if she "would be happier." The faery queen wouldn't be the first to think so, so there may well be something to it, beyond the magical. 

And finally Mab concluded with one of those vague, elliptical statements that remind Hermione (' _quite a bit_ ') of Dumbledore. The Fae's queen told her that she has a colleague she is "close to" that she should "consider." Not _what_ she should consider them, or _for_ what either (' _no hints to be had there_ '), or for that matter what "close" even means. She wishes, not for the first time, that people would speak more plainly if they have something to convey. (' _It's a truly unnecessary and bothersome habit._ ')

For example, she's become much closer to Neville since she returned for her seventh year as he was starting his Herbology apprenticeship. And she considers him a good head of house, say. Or Minerva. She's been very close to the Headmistress since returning to Hogwarts and definitely since beginning her own Arithmancy apprenticeship. Hermione considers the older witch a good friend. Or there's Hagrid, whose hut is close by (' _although he's in France visiting Olympe at the moment, actually_...'). And so on... It's maddeningly vague and can mean anything or nothing, but Hermione can't help wondering if that is the point. The latitude to interpret it as she sees fit means the choices are ultimately hers. She prefers that notion to "fate," so maybe it's for the best.

So when just _moments_ later she practically runs into the school's withdrawn Potions Master outside the glade, her surprise is great. So much so, that she nearly laughs, but doesn't, knowing it will be misunderstood. ( _She settles for a slightly lopsided smile instead. 'He'll probably take it for a smirk.'_ ) Was he the colleague Mab meant, or would that have been too on the nose? (' _"Close!" Ha!_ ') She's certain Severus is either on his way to or from the Fae's clearing, and although she wouldn't object in the least to learning why, she minds her own business (' _only just_ ') and engages him in polite conversation instead.

She is a bit preoccupied, however, and not just because of Mab's "happiness directive." The situation with her parents is truly _painful_ , especially on birthdays and Christmas, and it probably hasn't helped that she doesn't really talk about it. ( _She concedes the point to Mab, again_.) But talking about it is problematic. 

For one thing, she's been encouraged not to do so to lessen the attention "it" receives and increase her chances of not being... punished. _Punished_ , she would be quick to add, for having been _forced_ by universal inaction and disregard to create this mess in the first place. (' _As though the situation weren't punishment enough_...') There will never be enough indignation to express her reaction to the Ministry's response to the matter. 

For another, she's sort of run out of people on the very short (' _and admittedly tacit_ ') Ministry approved list ( _so much hate_ ) with whom she can speak about it. And those people basically fall into three camps. The first group shuts her down with a gentle "try not to think about it, dear, so you can put it behind you." Because _repression_ is so terribly healthy and _effective_ as coping mechanisms go. The second group reflects that first problem and echoes the party line, "best not to speak of it, lest charges are pressed." They do so either because they _agree_ with the Ministry (' _like_ Harry') and think she will eventually see _reason_ ( _and so she discovers just how much she has been underestimating people's rampant_ stupidity), or because they're pragmatic ( _in which case their lack of righteous indignation is simply_ galling _to her_ ). The third group is frankly bored to tears, and tries desperately to change the subject. It's possible she's doing them an injustice; perhaps they are merely uncomfortable and looking for more pleasant topics, but the end effect for her is the same. 

Ultimately the root of that last problem is the worst she has to face: there's really nothing new to say. There are no changes, no updates. Her quandaries, legal, ethical or purely emotional, once run through, remain unvarying. If she rails against the Ministry, she'll have nothing substantial to add since her last rant. Or the ten before that. All her arguments are unendingly cyclic. That fact doesn't lessen her pain in the least, but it does tend to kill a conversation. 

And faced with the impending holidays, yet another without her family, and estranged from her friends, she's feeling a bit lonely and sorry for herself and (' _slightly_ ') overwhelmed, and she indulges herself (' _just a smidgeon_ ') and seeks a human connection. The Ministry be _damned_ , she won't be muzzled. She'll speak to whomever she _pleases_. And so she finds herself telling the Potions Master about her problems. ( _Just maybe Mab put this bee in her bonnet_.)

Intuitively she feels confident that he won't defend the Ministry. She is certain he will understand the reasons for her actions and won't judge. (' _It probably helps that even great Neptune's ocean couldn't wash_ his _hands clean... Which is_ completely _unfair, really, given his position,' and she'd apologize immediately if she had actually said it. 'But it_ was _too fittingly snarky not to have thought it_.') He hasn't heard her story before, so he shouldn't be (' _completely_ ') bored by her tale. And she doubts he would pass it off as "best not thought about," because she is absolutely _positive_ he is a world class brooder. (' _The Severus/Lily stories alone would seem to indicate he doesn't let things go, either, so a wallower of the first water, then. Although "wallowing" sounds overly negative_...') 

She's comfortable ruling a lot of things out, but what she's less sure about is his actual reaction. Some mixture of isolation on her part coupled with the fact that, _whatever_ his reaction is, at least it should be something _new_ emboldens her, and she finds herself telling him the whole sad story. Well, not the bits about Harry. Or her frustrations with the Ministry. But the rest. Mostly.

But then without her saying a word about it, he completely _extrapolates_ the Ministry's role in her misery. (' _My, but there's plenty to be said for intelligence. And probably experience, too_.') And _then_ he takes _her_ side. 

And it's _amazing_. And he tells her all this (' _so very unlike him to put himself out there, but he does_ '), and it's the best thing she's heard in... months. (' _Maybe longer_.') And in her weakened, connection-starved state she suddenly finds herself overwhelmed and acting entirely on impulse and... hugging him.

Possibly _assaulting_ him, if she were to stick to the facts of the matter.

He _immediately_ stiffens under her touch, and she's _so_ sorry, because his body goes thoroughly _rigid_. But he _has_ put his arms around her in response, so there's that. ( _Vaguely she is aware that as she lunged, his arms went up defensively, and then they were sort of flapping about uncomfortably, 'and he probably just needed a place to park them... But still_...')

And _this_ sad little hug is the closest thing to physical affection that she's experienced in _so_ long... probably since before she and Harry parted ways (' _in every meaningful sense of the words_ '). And now she's feeling pretty pathetic, and trying desperately not to sob. And then he makes what might be the world's most awkward soothing gestures, sort of clapping one hand on her shoulder, thump, thump, thump, as his other arm still lies, erm... parked around her waist. But she finds it _incredibly_ endearing. It pulls her right out of her funk. She almost _giggles_ , for goodness sake. (' _Of course it's an emotional roller coaster, but no less_ genuine _for it._ ') He didn't ask for this, _any_ of this. What he _asked_ was a presumably innocent question, and suddenly he's dropped a monumental clanger instead. Then he gets hit with all... _this_. And still he's trying to put on his most decent face. 

She's _incredibly_ grateful.

It helps, of course, that Hermione is one to consider the source. Years of close association with friends less emotionally (' _or intellectually_ ') gifted have taught her to adjust her expectations, and she is surprisingly good at it now. It won't prevent her from nagging, but she grades interpersonal interactions on a sliding scale by force of habit. For Minerva this would be a poor showing (' _Troll_ '). Even Filius would do much better (' _Poor_ '). ( _Although neither would encourage her to question the Ministry's fairness, 'each for their own reasons, Camps One and Two (subset b), respectively_...') But for _Severus_ , this is truly something else (' _Outstanding_ '). And he's in a camp all his own.

Which is why she is immediately sorry to have pounced on him in such a fashion. This is a very poor reward for his kindness, to make him even more uncomfortable and impose further upon him. But then, the embrace wasn't actually meant to be a reward now, was it? She was overwrought and overcome and expressed herself suitably. Well, perhaps not suited to _him_ , but where words fail... _Gestures_ prevail.

But truth be told, she finds herself in a better place than she did just moments ago, by which the cheeky witch may or may not mean a certain tall wizard's arms.

And so they stand, holding one another. His arms loosely around her, one hand thumping comfortingly, if awkwardly, on her shoulder. Thump, thump, thump. Her face remains pressed to his warm chest, hiding first her tearing eyes and then her giggle. Reflexively, she starts to snuggle against him, but it's so subtle a movement before she catches herself and breaks it off that she hopes he won't have noticed. He smells good, and she can detect the scents of herbs from some of the potions he's been working on, and a note of... cider? ( _Maybe he's made some for the staff Christmas party again!_ ) His winter cloak is soft and not at all scratchy against her face, and she thinks she can hear his heart beating a tattoo in counterpoint to his claps. 

Thumpa, thumpa, thumpa. Thump, thump, thump.

It's pleasant ( _for her_ ) and a welcome change. Too bad it can't last.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, concrit and feedback are appreciated, and I can never get enough love... 
> 
> In the next chapter, our heroes _still_ aren't out of the woods, and they have a ways yet to the castle, all whilst working diligently on personifying awkward. And we return to our usual Severus centric point of view.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: Rabid experimentation has led to a solution (of sorts, possibly: "foul") to the formatting issues plaguing me. The inclusion of HTML (explicitly or automatically, the latter of which was a bugbear to track down, particularly as _not necessarily displayed_. ( _Seriously???_ Oh, just shoot me now...)) in the notes at the top (but _only_ at the top...) of the page seems to cause the pleasantly enlarged display on tablets to barf. (That's probably the technical term for it. Sure it is.) 
> 
> Once again, **anyone with a clue, please feel super encouraged to leave me a comment with the right vocabulary words** , so I can happily Google away, or, y'know go FAQ it. Ta.
> 
> xox
> 
> Ginger


	5. Yule be here for Christmas... Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes *still* aren't out of the woods... They have yet a ways to the castle and are working diligently on personifying awkward en route.
> 
> We return to our usual Severus centric point of view.

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  I don't own any of this and won't profit from it. All props to JKR, the fount of all things Potter canon.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Last Chapter:**  
> 
> 
> In a flurry of movement Hermione launches herself directly at him, and her arms wrap tightly around his neck... And she's... _hugging_ him.
> 
> His arms went up instinctively at the movement, and then realizing there was no imminent threat (' _define "threat"!_ ' something roars), just sort of hang there in the air for a breath before closing briefly, tentatively across her back, and he finds himself with a warm armful of witch.
> 
> _Merlin_.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> For her, it's a pleasant and welcome change. Too bad it can't last.

### Yule be here for Christmas... Part 5

-~SS/HG~-

Well, that's an altogether startling development.

Severus considers carefully, as is his wont, and reassures himself "startling" is not too strong a word for it. This... whatever this _arms_ thing is... _this_ was completely unexpected. But that can be said of many things.

Less than an hour ago, he wouldn't have thought he'd encounter anyone else besides the Fae in the Forbidden Forest this evening. Fifteen minutes ago, he couldn't have pictured his young colleague would ever choose him as a confidant. That she is currently seeking _comfort_ in his arms... It's so inconceivable, he never could have envisioned it and would have discounted it as utterly ludicrous mere _moments_ ago. 

And of course there was the latest... _gift_ from the Fae. (' _Merlin knows what that was about_.') Research is called for, copious amounts of research, beyond a doubt. There is precious little to be done for it at the moment, and he refuses to dwell on it.

But consoling distraught witches... is entirely out of his realm of experience. And perplexing. And demands his immediate attention. He first pauses to covertly examine her to determine if she is, indeed, distraught. (' _Because if she were, you would have any notion of how to proceed_?' ' _Properly assessing the problem is never amiss_ ,' he is fairly certain.) 

Initially, he is reasonably confident that she is simply relieved. Whatever he said to her, and he's not at all certain in retrospect what it could have been, seems to have been welcome, which would make... this... _arms_ thing a... _hug_. (He decides that's the correct word for it, but finds it so confusing he'd prefer not to think about it. At all.) 

Fortunately, he is saved from contemplating that further by a muffled sob. (' _Splendid_.') It seems her relief has given way to a sudden surge of emotion. (' _Be careful what you wish for_...' the sap taunts. ' _Silence_.') 

And this just compounds his confusion. He has, certainly, made people cry, undoubtably many, and probably on repeated occasions at that. (' _In point of fact, I'm reasonably certain I have made_ this _young witch cry when she was my student_.' In a complicated confluence of repression and denial, he refuses to think of her crying over him after Voldemort and that thrice damned snake left him for dead, much as he doesn't think about the attack itself if he can help it. But it doesn't stop a quick image of her distress from flashing to mind.) Never, _never_ is he sought out to console someone who is crying. (' _In the interests of accuracy, she didn't exactly seek me out. There was_ literally _no one else around_.' ' _But still_...' the sap can't help starting before being _squelched_.)

Not since he and Lily were young children, which (' _oddly_ ') is longer ago than he finds himself willing to admit with this attractive young woman in his arms, has anyone expected he would be able to provide solace. And at the time, Lily was a good friend. That his pretty colleague could imagine _him_ capable of providing what she apparently needs in this situation seems... unlikely, or ill-reasoned. (' _A shame. Her brain was always exemplary_.') 

Unsure how best to proceed, he raises one of his arms from her waist (and is shocked to discover they were both still there, to be honest, but then fails absolutely to remove the remaining arm leaving it... ' _propped there conveniently_ ,' he decides) and, his right arm now draped across her upper back, begins to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. Or something that passes for it. It's rather an awkward pat. (' _More of a thump. Merlin's beard, man, she's a slight thing! Have a care with her_.')

So he thumps away. (' _That can't possibly be an appropriate response_?') But bizarrely, it seems to help. _That_ comes as such a shock that he (' _quite typically_ ') decides to take it as further proof that he is unequal to the task. (' _Which disregards completely the fact that you_ are _evidently managing it_.' The sap remains a great and bloody thorn in his side, but murderous thoughts do little to quash him.) 

She bewilders him once again by burrowing her face further into his chest, and as the pleasant citrusy scent of her hair work's its way to his nose, and he catches himself almost bending closer to inhale (!), he begins weighing the advantages to simply remaining permanently astounded in her presence. (' _It's in the interests of efficiency. Doing so would most likely conserve time and energy_.' ' _Doubtlessly_ ,' the sap sounds... sarcastic.) Reflexively, his arm around her tiny waist tightens ever so slightly, and erring on the side of caution, he opts to thump her shoulder some more. And then suddenly he is almost _positive_ the little chit is laughing... She remains good for a surprise, he'll allow that, but _mocking_ him after he's been quite decent is clearly taking the piss...

And then he's ripped from his thoughts again at her slight movement. She can't have... (' _Absolutely not_.') So did she just wipe her tears on his chest? Because the alternative doesn't bear thinking on. If he didn't know better, he would say it looked suspiciously like... _nuzzling_. Which is patently absurd, and therefore incorrect. (' _Clearly_.') And suddenly he finds his discomfort at having the petite witch in his arms increasing... dramatically. 

He's changed since the war, not that most people care enough or would be close enough to notice. He has relaxed some, as any student can tell you, which was only to be expected. He is kinder, or at least less abusive (a mental eyebrow raises), and gentler (' _not that that says much as a relative measure_ '); the sarcasm remains, but the _tone_ has shifted. All of that comes as no surprise. 

The far more significant difference is that he no longer _has_ to have all the answers. Previously, indecision, hesitancy, uncertainty, or lack of resolve could all have meant death. Now he allows himself the deceptively simple luxury of being contradictory and undecided. Which means sometimes his thoughts and feelings these days are all over the map. It's rare, but when it happens, he's discovered he almost enjoys that feeling of free fall, except for the even rarer occurrences when he very much doesn't. 

_This_ situation is shaping up to be the latter. 

Holding her is unexpectedly... pleasant. Being able to comfort someone is frankly astonishing. He's never contemplated it, so it's unanticipated when he realizes he _likes_ that feeling rather a lot. Both feelings, really. It's a pity then, that he expects to be able to repeat neither. Comforting _her_ is proving a whole that's better than the sum of its parts. So obviously the very last thing he wants is this soft witch in his arms.

And that's blatantly false; it's most definitely _not_ the last thing he wants. If pressed, he could almost certainly provide a very _extensive_ list of things he'd like less. (' _Fortunately, people don't_...' ' _There's a lovely witch in your arms that appears the exception to your rule, given she's pressing you rather tightly at the moment_.' He's... aware.) And of course it's _pleasant_ , but more so in the _theoretical_ sense. (The sap's eye roll is very nearly audible.) It sounds all well and good on parchment, but one really doesn't want to find oneself with a presumably _taken_ witch in one's arms.

He should wonder why that matters, but once again doesn't.

Perhaps it's a question of honor, or maybe it's fear of losing the battle again, as he remembers losing Lily to James all too clearly. It's probably a combination of both. (Not that Lily was his to lose in any _romantic_ sense of the word, but her loss was nevertheless very deeply felt.) Involvement with taken witches is ill advised at best.

If he were being honest, which nothing shy of Veritaserum or a compulsion spell would be likely to invoke on this topic, he's not even certain he's prepared for a _single_ witch at this point. But if anything, it's probable that her unavailability _adds_ to her appeal, making her "safer," because he doesn't have to justify, if only to himself, not acting on the attraction. (He's not a _coward_ , simply thwarted, ' _more's the pity_.') It's one thing to think someone is attractive. It's another to want to hold them and yet a third to act upon it. He's reasonably comfortable with the first step these days - thought is free. But not actions. Actions can come at a very steep price. And _never_ with someone else's witch.

It, typically, seems to have completely escaped his notice that he doesn't storm about thinking all manner of witches attractive, but rather a very specific one. One currently in his arms. Or more precisely, holding _him_ in _hers_. 

She's ceased making soft, strangled sobbing noises and actually seems to be trying to swallow a giggle instead, and Severus wonders if this is the onset of hysteria. He is completely out of his element here. But then she leans back, though still not releasing him, and looks him straight in the eyes and _apologizes_. (Although the apology would be more convincing if she were to let him go...)

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have forced myself upon you. I shouldn't have taken liberties. I... " and she trails off and then takes a deep, cleansing breath and a new tack. "Thank you."

He's still holding her weakly and searching her face for something (' _for signs of a breakdown, obviously, what else_?'), but he doesn't break contact or force her to do so. He waits, silently, until she's pulled herself together. When she is able to smile up at him sincerely, and he no longer fears her impending mental collapse, he lets her pull back further. 

He can't suppress the urge to surreptitiously check his robes for proof of tears and confirmation that she had blotted them against his chest; there's still that odd movement of her head to account for. His keen eyes discover two minute damp spots, near imperceptibly darker black on black, the remainder of tears from the placement, but _not_ smeared, so no. Not the cause for her... gesture. His next explanation: she must have been shivering from the cold, makes about as much sense as it did when he first suggested it was getting cold out as they met outside the Fae's clearing, and speaks for denial. (' _Warming Charms. Idiot_.') But the alternative is too absurd... (' _Once you eliminate the impossible_...' ' _No..._ nuzzling _... took place_.')

She rescues him from his thoughts once again, sighing deeply and repeating "Thank you," resolutely as she draws a hand gently across his chest. 

She turns to head back to the castle, and he's a little uncertain if he should follow. He doesn't know if she now needs her space, or if his continuing on with her would be more or less awkward than if he just allows her to go ahead. But then she stops and waits for him, turning to face him and says, "you have no idea how good that felt." (He has his own ideas about that, but deems them inappropriate to the situation at hand.) "For obvious reasons I'm not supposed to talk about it much, so to have someone understand where I'm coming from, what I went through... It's an enormous comfort." And then she reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a reassuring and grateful squeeze, and her smile makes Warming Charms redundant, and she tugs him after her on the way back home, releasing his hand only when he resumes following her and before he can (' _perversely_ ') feel even more ill at ease. 

As they emerge from the Forbidden Forest together, Severus can't help thinking how fortunate it was that they were hidden from view of the castle by the tree cover. He shouldn't like to have to explain the sight of her in his arms. But a tiny traitorous voice very deep inside can't help thinking: it might have been _nice_ to have been seen (' _as a comfort_ ') after all.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, finally out of the woods and with the castle in sight, Severus and Hermione enter the home stretch. Surprisingly, Severus determines that conversation is not his forte. Fortunately, Hermione is up to the challenge and we get a bit of an update on miscellaneous Weasleys and Harry.
> 
> Minor ginger and Potter bashing shall occur.  
>  
> 
> A/N:  
> "Thought is free." is from Shakespeare's "The Tempest," although I tend to think of the song "Die Gedanken sind frei" with that phrase. The "modern" version of the song post-dates "The Tempest," but the predecessors have a couple hundred years on the play. "Es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!"
> 
> "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." - Arthur Conan Doyle. Severus and Sherlock share certain traits I enjoy. You just know he devoured those books as a lad.


	6. Yule be here for Christmas... Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Hermione are finally out of the woods, and with the castle in sight, they enter the home stretch. Surprisingly, Severus determines that conversation is not his forte. This should shock no one, anywhere, ever. Fortunately, Hermione is up to the challenge, and we get a bit of an update on miscellaneous Weasleys and Harry.
> 
> Severus' point of view. All parenthetical thoughts are his.

> **WARNING:**  
>  Fairly minor ginger and Potter bashing shall occur. Viewpoints expressed by characters do not necessarily _have_ to correspond to the realities of their world and this story. They are trying to be reasonable facsimiles of humans, so sometimes they are biased, sometimes they are mistaken, and once in a while they even lie, if only to themselves. Presumably.
> 
> Full disclosure, I don't hate Ron, I don't even _dislike_ him, but I'll _never_ believe in him and Hermione as a satisfactory long term pairing, and there's no way that isn't reflected in this work. That said, he comes off a bit worse here than I think he strictly _needs_ to, because _I_ needed Hermione in a certain place for this story. I'm trying not to skewer any characters too badly needlessly. (...with the possible exception of Molly.) I hope that doesn't detract from anyone's enjoyment.
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  JKR owns the lot. I own nothing, and shan't profit at all (except for kudos and comments, both of which are lovely and appreciated (*nudge nudge, wink wink*), but pay neither the mortgage nor fill my tummy, so the attack!lawyers can happily chill).
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Happy Birthday, Severus! You just know, somewhere or another, this evening he's camped in a well-stocked library in a squashy couch in front of a glorious fire, enjoying a good book and a nice dram of something peaty he was gifted for his 57th, hopefully with his company of choice at his side. Here's wishing him the best.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Previously:**  
>  Severus and Hermione run into one another near the Fae's Yule celebrations and make their way back to the castle together. Conversation ensues, much of it awkward.
> 
> A... _hug_ probably happened. A snuggle most definitely was _not_ attempted, not even reflexively, under any circumstances _whatsoever_. To think so is madness. _Clearly __._
> 
> Unless you ask Hermione. She'll tell you otherwise, because she's fairly honest that way.
> 
> But they seem to be talking and getting along and finding it not altogether loathsome to spend time in each other's company. Possibly comforting even. Merlin, they may actually _enjoy_ it. But only a bit.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

### Yule be here for Christmas... Part 6

-~SS/HG~-

 

As they emerge from the Forbidden Forest, the wan moonlight reflects so brightly from the nearly pristine snow cover, that Hermione extinguishes her Lumos. They proceed, silently for the moment, each lost in thought in the silvery light. Avoiding absolutely any and all speculation on what had just transpired between them (' _And just what_ had _transpired between_...' ' _Moving on_.'), he decides the tone and quality of the illumination does favorable things for the deep greens of her winter robes and cloak. Naturally he thinks of the Slytherin house colors, and considers he might be biased, but a closer look leaves him convinced the observation was sufficiently... objective. While (' _casually_ ' 'obsessively') evaluating the shades of her robes, it doesn't escape his notice that the sprig of mistletoe affixed to her chest is now slightly crushed, and he feels a certain sense of satisfaction upon discovering it. And then puzzles fleetingly at the feeling.

With a slightly smug smirk, he also notes that they are now following Hermione's footprints back to the castle; his are nowhere to be seen. Neither that fact nor his reaction to it escape Hermione's notice, in turn, although it was his oh-so-faint snort that drew her attention to it. Shaking off her musings on Mab's advice and the almost _immediate_ difference heeding it has made, she makes a mental note to investigate what charms Severus could have used to eliminate his trail. The library remains her truest friend. And if he's feeling _so_ self-satisfied, it's altogether out of the question that she would simply _ask_ him.

He can't help thinking about Hermione's story. Was there really nothing to be done for her parents? He knows she's had years to confront the problem. Assumably, Minerva would have provided her Gryffindor princess with every imaginable assistance. Hermione won't have been left alone in her search for a solution, and many good minds will (' _surely_ ') have had a turn at it. (' _And a plethora of perfectly average ones as well, presumably_.' ' _And that would be the only thing_ perfect _about them_.' ' _If that_.') His inner voices in anomalous agreement for once, he doesn't even register his growing smirk as he proceeds, meanwhile Hermione's resolve to research the footprint issue firms in response.

Whilst he doesn't discount (' _entirely_ ') the value of the effort the others will have brought to bear on the problem, it remains (' _irrefutably_ ') unsolved, and any thought he gives the matter will (' _logically_ ') have to assess what has and has not been done. He shall speak to Minerva for more detail, but in the absence of that, the best course would plainly be thinking along lines outside of their typical strengths whilst playing more to his, so solutions in the realms of grey or outright dark magic...

Continuing his list, he wonders if this was why Hermione sought out Mab, but doesn't ask. He considers it probable, and is impressed the young witch was able to discover the Fae as a resource. It took him extensive research to find the vaguest hints of them, and then vast amounts more to find his way to them. He wonders how she was able to achieve it without the benefit of connections similar to those he... enjoys (' _enjoys_...' he considers Lucius and Horace, the Dark Lor... (' _Voldemort!_ ') _Voldemort_ and the goblins at Gringotts for a moment and seriously questions the use of that word). In any event, the problem remains. (' _Conspicuously_.') He thinks about her returning to thank the Fae for an unfruitful boon. (' _But of course she would_ ,' and only the _very_ faintly sarcastic note to it tells him it's his inner voice, the sentiment every bit as true for the sap. After that... _hug_ , he's finding it difficult to muster much vitriol.)

He can't help stealing another glance at his companion, and is disconcerted to find her looking somewhat grimly determined. Hermione is feeling a bit put upon that he is so evidently amused that she has left tracks, and her expression is slipping with her mood. Unaware of her reasons, warranted or not, Severus simply knows he prefers her smile and contemplates the relative benefits of discourse. If there were a definite _need_ for it, he would have preferred she take the reins, but he isn't one to shirk. 

Solution oriented, he concludes that resuming the conversation, steering it in a less _painful_ direction (' _clearly_ '), would be an advisable course of action. He still has no real desire to hear about... Potter, and perhaps a bit late has realized his earlier smirk, in view of the... _hug_ , could be misconstrued as inappropriately smug satisfaction at an erroneously perceived conquest. (' _Never_.')

To the best of his knowledge (although his obliviousness to her parents' situation has him questioning the value of his supposed "knowledge"), his young colleague is spoken for. Unavailable... _Taken_. Eager to avoid further... awkwardness, he would like to reassure her that he is... _aware_ of her... _status_ , and despite (still) having no desire to be regaled with tales of her love life, he concludes that the best option at present would be to enquire after the Weasleys. Again digging deep, today is proving quite challenging, he renews his efforts towards the conversational and (' _almost believably_ ') feigns an interest in the Weasleys, and specifically their youngest son. 

"The Weasleys, how are they? What are Mr. Weasley's plans for the season?" Isn't he just the soul of wit?

And (' _of course_ ') her expression immediately clouds. And so damned _thoroughly_ , too... He almost hangs his head.

_Brilliant_. 

_Merlin's bloody_... (' _Bollocks!_ ') He may as well just hex himself and save the universe the bother. He was clearly never meant to... _chat_. What on earth was he thinking? She _volunteered_ to take Longbottom's place. No matter how tender-hearted the young woman may be (' _and she_ is _rather_ '), _that_ should have told him something. What vivacious young person would _choose_ to pass the holidays without those she holds dear? 

And now his feigned interest in the Weasley lad is suddenly very real, but not for the life of him would he ask anything further and risk the next gaffe. Belatedly it occurs to him that he may have just compounded any misunderstandings and his question (' _in light of the..._ arms _thing_...' '" _Hug_."' ' _A flurry of flying appendages does not an embrace make_.' ' _Who said anything about an "embrace"? "Hug." We determined it was a hug._ You _are regressing_.' ' _And_ we _are hardly expert in such_... affairs.') could be mistaken for fishing for information (' _or what passes for it for a Gryffindor_.' ' _Gryffindors_...' comes the now conditioned response, scoffed somewhat surprisingly, but without the customary vehemence, by the sap), or for _interest_ even, and with that shocking realization, he begins to shut down. (And the traitorous, wretched sap quietly queries if that might _not_ have been, at least in part, the case.)

Ultimately, no answer is required for his questions, both those voiced and not, as to Weasley. Even for the unimaginative such as himself, the answer is clear. (He can immediately picture ten issues and corresponding scenarios... vastly dissimilar people with equally dichotomous skills, the inherent friction between extroverts and introverts, different priorities, lack of mutual respect, presumably mutually exclusive goals, disparate skill _levels_ ( _snort_ ), almost assuredly different visions for the future, _his_ blatant publicity seeking and pandering to the press, groupies? ' _Merlin, he won't have been unfaithful_?' ' _Only if he is an unmitigated idiot_.' ' _The_ "man" _, and I use the term_ very _loosely, is an unrepentant dunderhead_.' ... ' _We will not ask_.' ' _Agreed_.') He contemplates a vow of silence. 

But Hermione, as most people are likely to, fills the silence left by his internal self-recriminations and musings, and takes up their disastrous conversation and _runs_ with it. Sounding more than a little bitter and frosty, she bites out "I wouldn't know. That answers both of your questions, actually. How's that for concise?" And then she takes a deep breath before proceeding to be anything but. (He cringes, again sorry he asked.) 

"Anecdotally (he cringes some more at the choice, ' _This will not end well_.'), I hear the various and sundry Weasleys (' _Cor_.') are well. Propagating, by all accounts, which I gather is Weasley for 'thriving.' (' _Indeed_.') We should expect an influx of them within the decade (' _Merlin's balls, she's right_.' ' _Early retirement has a certain appeal_...' ' _As does the Cruciatus, by comparison_.') By _our_ standards (and as he realizes the personal pronouns include _himself_ , a faint, lopsided grin begins to spread across his face, which he tamps down immediately before she can think he's happy at her misfortune) neither blessed with notable successes nor particularly plagued by failures. (' _Unremarkable_.')

"Arthur and Percy are still plugging away at the Ministry, and both _still_ seem to think that's a good thing." Their expressions are similarly wry. "Maybe Arthur less so these days, but he puts up a robust front. Bill is still curse breaking at Gringotts and seems to find it fulfilling, which I can actually believe. Some of the wolf-impulses are apparently proving a bother. Charlie is back with his dragons; Hagrid mentioned recently that he was consulting with Charlie on a breeding program. He seemed very enthusiastic, but then Hagrid generally does. George had a wobble for a while there after..." She sighs but starts again. 

"Ronald (he thinks he spots a reflexive swallow there), Ronald recognized that the Aurors' program was perhaps... too demanding. There's a good deal of precision, bureaucracy and record keeping involved, and the continued study requirements... didn't suit him. Too unexpectedly scholastic an environment. He left to help George, and together they were able to reinvigorate things at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

He manages not to point out that Weasley might have been better equipped if she hadn't provided a never-ending stream of sloth-enabling academic support. He deems that a minor triumph on his part. (' _It borders on a wonder that_ boy _knows how to spell his boots shut_.') He's noticed she hasn't mentioned the Weasley women, but by now has gained enough experience in such matters not to ask. (' _Would that were so five minutes ago_...') Whatever made him think he could carry a conversation? (' _As if five questions count as "carrying"_.' ' _It does when she's_ not _. And there were a number of statements. And_ they _were even sincere_.' ' _I should hope so_.' ' _There's always sarcasm_.' ' _That, too, is sincere_.' ' _Can be_ ,' he concedes.) More judiciously, he decides to go with "I am sorry to hear about Mr. Weasley." 

Mercilessly, she barks out a laugh and pretends not to follow him, "You'll have to be more specific. That's not a name; it's a unit of measure. Ten Weasleys on a pitch..."

But he finds himself smiling at her stiff upper lip and plays along, "I believe there are seven players on a team."

At that she smiles back, but it's a bit rueful, "Well, my expertise doesn't extend to quidditch, so that was legitimately inaccurate. But _seven_ isn't really a good number for them these days."

They both pause, regretfully considering Fred, and the silence stretches again. Severus decides he can't make things much worse, and that he _must_ be capable of making a simple expression of regret, and tries again, "Still, I am sorry about young Weasley... Ronald. It was my understanding..." The intention was good, but he isn't sure where to take this in practice and so just sort of... trails off.

"Unfortunately, there were a good deal more misunderstandings than understandings. Between Ronald and myself. We're very different (he manages not to scoff audibly and is quite pleased with himself), which isn't bad per se, but..."

With noticeably more energy, she proceeds, "And then even more unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have conveyed that to his family, or perhaps it's only Molly, she can be rather," she pauses, biting her lip and weighing her words before she diplomatically proceeds with, "a force of nature. Either way, no one else seems to have felt it was worth maintaining contact, and in the final analysis I seem to be unwelcome."

"Molly frequently responds on an... emotional level. In your position, I shouldn't consider her reaction precisely a reasoned indictment of my character." 

"I'm certainly not _pleased_ with her reaction, it's the Tri-Wizard Tournament all over again (He casts about and hasn't a clue how that relates to this situation, but guessing the gist doesn't ask. He also knows that either an interruption in the form of a question or the resultant highlighting that their past isn't quite as shared as she might perceive it would prove disadvantageous to their communication. He lets her continue unchecked.), it's frustrating and disappointing, without a doubt, but not a _surprise_. It's the withdrawal from the rest that..." she breaks off, but there's no need to finish. Her face, so expressive, so unguarded, says it all. 

"I'm sorry to hear it," he replies quietly and seems to really mean it. She looks at him, puzzled, and shakes off her morose thoughts. Realizing rather late in the game that her taciturn colleague has made a phenomenal effort for his standards, she considers how far outside of his comfort zone he must be, trying to keep up their exchange, and takes some pity on him. She decides she is at least as capable as he is at making an attempt at pleasant conversation. Not that it's gone well, but she won't hold an honest effort against him. Embracing her slightly evil streak, she settles on just the topic.

"But Harry's doing remarkably well," she chirps. (That's _still_ the word for it.) Seeing her smirk, he realizes she knows he's been avoiding talking about... Potter. But he's so relieved not to have opened the next can of worms, he's willing to roll with it. 

"Ah." There. That must be sufficient. (' _Scintillating_.')

Smiling now, possibly because of his non-response, she continues, "He's settled in well with the Aurors. Apparently it suits him. Very much the success. Has quite some reputation at the Ministry these days, too. (He's not certain, but believes he detected a small quaver there.) And he and Ginny seem very happy. I expect they're in it for the long term. I wouldn't be surprised if they get married sometime soon." She's still chirping.

"Hmm." He's dying here. He's experienced Cruciatuses that were less painful. How much further is it to the castle?

His patently obvious desire to be _anywhere_ else now has her almost giggling. She suppresses the urge, relents from her verbal torture, and decides to throw him a bone. He's been quite a trooper after all. She knows full well Harry is a sensitive topic for him. The truth isn't all unicorns and rainbows, and she doesn't need to put a positive spin on this. It's possible for her to have a meaningful, mature and honest conversation, and she's determined to do that now with Severus. Whether he wants it or not. Most likely "not," all considered, but it's no deterrent.

Softening her tone, which to her amusement is sufficient to cause him to visibly unclench, at least some, she continues. "We aren't close any more. Harry seemed to think I should be grateful I wasn't tried for obliviating my parents, and should let the Ministry keep rolling me out for publicity purposes. It's a pity our friendship fell victim to Ministerial machinations. Or his unwillingness to stand up for me against them. But then he never said anything to Molly or Ron, either. I expected better of him."

And that attracts his attention. He's not at all sure what to make of it. He tries to examine her as closely and inconspicuously as he can, and is fairly successful as she never guesses the level of interest her comments draw. He is reassured both that this is her opinion and that she believes the truth of her statements, and wonders why she would share a criticism of Potter with _him_. She doesn't seem to be pandering either to her audience (in which case he's the perfect target group), or for sympathy. (' _Which would have widely missed its mark_...' ' _Would it?_ ') From a Slytherin, such a confidence would have been a gambit, but he can tell _she's_ sincere, and he is pleased, if puzzled, by her trust.

It undoubtedly helps that he shares her opinion.

"In the absence of a pardon for that," he feels compelled to point out, "there may be something to be said for keeping the Ministry on side. You'll not have reached the statute of limitations yet. Even when you do, the Ministry can't entirely be trusted not to retroactively extend that time period at some later date. Whilst frequently, if not generally, ineffectual, they can be dangerous when they _do_ act. 

"But I stand by my earlier statement: it's a travesty you weren't granted some form of official amnesty."

An hour ago, he would have given any odds against his saying what follows. "Whilst I am not sure _I_ expected better of Mr. Potter, _you_ certainly _deserve_ better." Perhaps he's still caught in the magic of the wintery scene, or some residual effect from the Fae's celebration, or the open and so uncharacteristic tone of their conversation, but he softly continues, "But are you certain Mr. Potter wasn't merely acknowledging that potential threat from the Ministry? Perhaps he thought that tack in your best interests?"

It's not quite a defense of Harry, he hasn't the information for that one way or the other, but at worst it is an impartial approach to the problem which puts Harry in a better light, and at best, it _favors_ Harry, and it surprises both of them. Greatly.

"That's a valid point," she has to allow and nods. "I shall need to give it some thought, because no, I'm _not_ exactly sure, to be honest. Let's allow that there _may_ be sense to courses of action other than those _I'd_ prefer, as unlikely as that might seem," she's grinning at him mischievously. "That still doesn't mean whilst counseling caution or deliberation he couldn't have also shown his support for _my_ position. _You_ had no issue with saying the Ministry should have acted differently. _That's_ all I wanted."

She's absolutely correct, and he has no idea what it means. If he can say it... Potter should have been able to as well. He'd much rather not dwell on why _he_ is supportive, but he knows unequivocally that he is sincere in that support. He's also not sure what to make of the last part of her declaration, and considers it ill-advised to examine it more closely. He leaps instead for relative safety.

"I have the ear of no one within the Ministry. I have neither friends nor influence there, and as such it is, _conceivably_ , simpler for me to express such thoughts," although considering his and Harry's natures, both of them know that's rubbish, but it's _kind_ and makes her feel better. "I can also imagine the situation with the Weasleys is complicated by his relationship to Ginevra. Perhaps he is not as free to voice opinions as he would wish to be. Additionally, they would doubtless fall on deaf ears given the parties involved, rendering such action... senseless." 

It's been less than half an hour since Queen Mab told her she would be happier if she opened up more to those around her. In a leap of faith, trusting the Fae from her past experiences with them, Hermione has effectively been spilling her heart out almost non-stop ever since to the first person she encountered. It's very unusual behavior for her; she's a very private person. It's completely atypical especially of late, and yet she already feels so much better. She is also certain that it is not simply the _act_ of confiding in someone, but the _person_ to whom she is speaking that makes all the difference. _Severus_ is revealing himself to be an excellent sounding board, and she is enjoying their talk. Rather a lot. 

This entire conversation is proving thoroughly unexpected but incredibly welcome. She hasn't been able to speak with anyone about this, any of it really, and it's... pleasant, very, to be able to do so, to get some feedback and interactively mull things over and work them through. Hagrid would feel caught in the middle, and her relationships with Minerva and Neville don't extend to these sorts of confidences. Neville would probably feel conflicted, too, although she'll never understand why. Filius isn't the right choice for these sorts of chats at all... That _Severus_ should prove to be the best person for it is _so_ surprising, but it's an amazingly good fit. She's enjoying this and it feels, it feels... good. Surprisingly _good_.

So she puts some thought into it, and gives him her most considered answer. "Harry was probably caught between Scylla and Charybdis with myself and Ronald," she can admit, "but on the other hand, he's always given Ronald a great deal more leeway. I simply haven't got it in me anymore to act like I find that remotely fair or acceptable." (She is thinking the word "Firebolt" so loudly he can hear it, recollecting... third year? ' _Merlin, can she hold a grudge_...' ' _Good for her_!') 

"I take it you're Scylla then?" He gives her a bit of a smirk. "It's never truly sorted until the apology, and often not even then. Potter is an idiot who has consistently doubled down on his behavior, and it's more difficult, and of questionable intelligence, to forgive in the absence of a proffered apology." He remembers vividly that Harry helped him, significantly, with the testimony he provided in Severus' defense after the war and almost feels guilty, _almost_ , but decides the berk deserves it. (' _It's no less than the truth_.' ' _And it's what she needs to hear_.') "I suspect part of the problem is that Mr. Weasley more overtly requires Mr. Potter's support. Explicitly demands it. Your evident strength can be misleading, such that people neglect to consider that being strong doesn't mean you aren't also hurt."

She knows he's talking from experience on that count, and only barely refrains from squeezing his hand in mutual commiseration. 

Then she laughs, "Are you calling Ronald 'needy'?"

"Manifestly," he answers dryly.

The conversation is very atypical for him, but he's enjoying the exchange (' _when it doesn't careen straight for the awkward_ '). He's a Slytherin, and they don't typically ask direct questions; it's the surest way to have to work harder for the answer. The answer probably won't be given when asked, and the other party, forewarned, will likely work against having it discovered by any other means, if only on principle. So this is an interesting change. 

She's speaking to him like a trusted _friend_ , and it's very unaccustomed. On occasion, Minerva will talk to him openly like this, but she's never this vulnerable. He wonders if this is the vulnerability of youth, or if this is something specific to Hermione. He neglects to consider that _their_ interactions and _his_ responses could have any effect on what she is willing to reveal, a telling oversight for an ex-spy. He's warming to their exchange, and wants more. 

" _Are_ you still hurt? Or have you come to terms with the separation from Mr. Weasley?" And the sap is completely certain he's now fishing, particularly given the shift in focus in his question, but is wise enough to hold his tongue, _very tightly_ , as he'd like to hear the answer, too.

She's doesn't consider his question to be prying, certainly not after her unsolicited infodump and his unflagging support in its wake. He hasn't once criticized her or made her feel small, instead he's taken her side. She feels comfortable with him, answering, "No, I'm fine in that regard. It hurts more that he didn't fight for our friendship, or defend me to Molly and Ginny. The end of the relationship itself was a probably a relief. For us both. Especially because, initially, I think we both had hope that could mean salvaging our friendship. Now I sometimes question if we ever really had one. 

"As far as the relationship," she shrugs. "We both had something of a revelation, simultaneously (he knows that won't have been the case; she'll have made Weasley see "the light"), that we were people with qualities to recommend us, but that the things that could arguably be considered our strongest suits were exactly the things the other didn't value in a partner. My thirst for knowledge, his..."

And he finds himself biting the inside of his cheek, really hard, in an effort to make no sound or expression in the least. (' _Oh, do tell. What exactly are Mr. Weasley's strong_ suits.' ' _Having turned in the Auror's robes, probably an old quidditch uniform_.' ' _Certainly_ not _his dress robes_...' He doesn't know when he has last found the sap so agreeable.) Occluding should have helped, but didn't in the least. If Voldemort had employed the young witch, Snape would never have lasted a week. He's become transparent, and Hermione can't help being amused. 

"Ronald's a good deal more comfortable with his fame (' _A_ fame whore! _How bloody_ marvelous!' His smirk is visible. ' _So we were probably correct across the board then_...' ' _But thankfully no infidelity_.' ' _No, no, thankfully not. That would have been a bridge too far_.' ' _Probably_.'), the attention _it_ ," she gestures vaguely, but he knows what she means, "brings. The people it attracts. I must say I prefer being _here_ and far removed from the limelight. Those two approaches don't marry well."

She says that, and it's very matter of fact. She's genuinely not bitter about that. It is as it is, and time has passed. Any hurt over dreams unrealized has long since faded, particularly with the recognition that they were never realistic to begin with. 

He approves of her turn of phrase. Possibly for more reasons than one. "I shouldn't think they do. Rather disastrously, in fact. I had a bit of experience with the wizarding... public and the attention the press directed my way in the... aftermath. I've never thought less of my fellow man. Nearly robbed me of all faith in humanity." And his expression is so neutral and dignified and his tone so dry and... 

And she can't help herself, she _laughs_! It starts low and small and grows and grows and just takes over. Suddenly her whole body is shaking with it. But she is quite evidently not laughing at him but _with_ him... She remains standing for a heartfelt, full-bodied laugh, reaching out an arm to place it on his, in part to steady herself, but also to keep him from moving on without her, and he finds he appreciates both the gesture and the contact. And she's still laughing, and it looks... very becoming on her. He realizes it's been a while since he's seen her this relaxed, and can't help thinking that's a pity. 

"Oh, oh that's rich! No, that's perfect! _Perfect_. Because you, naturally, _you_ are so well known for your faith in _humanity_." At the utterly charming look on her face, he realizes he isn't offended in the least, and is baffled to find himself beginning to chuckle along with her.

"Far and wide, Madam. It's practically my defining characteristic. Severus Snape, Menschenfreund and Humanitarian Extraordinaire. Have we met?" He extends a hand in mock greeting.

And now they're both laughing. And with her free hand, she's pretending to shake his hand in greeting. And it's... pleasant. And a lovely change. He should do this more. They both should. The laughter subsides and still holding his arm, she looks at him earnestly, eyes opened wide.

"Oh, but you're right, the letters I received..." She shakes her head, looking somewhat concerned at the memory. "The insights they provided into other people... They were positively frightening."

"We're in absolute agreement there," he nods, fully composed and recovered from the laughing fit, but still more relaxed than she's seen him all evening. Or all term, for that matter. It suits him. 

"I can't help wondering if Ronald received a different sort of attention, or if he is simply less... put off by the people who would have me off to a nunnery."

"If your owls were anything like mine and the authors thereof even remotely similar, I think the problem is that there are far too many people who would like very much to have you... in a nunnery," his eyebrow cocks somewhat suggestively, and she blushes slightly. 

"Your meaning is taken, but antiquated." She swallows. Audibly. "I believe that definition has fallen out of use." She's not at all certain how scandalized she should be.

"Befitting the speaker... Apologies." He raises a long fingered hand in a placating gesture. "But I suspect you were correct on both counts. Mr. Weasley will attract a different sort of attention than either of us would and is, possibly, less discerning in nature than we are."

"Oh, thanks a lot. We did have an relationship you know." 

He gives her a slightly evil grin, and she smiles again. 

He debates asking her if she's jealous of the attention Weasley gets. From her demeanor, he's confident she is not in the least perturbed by it; quite the contrary, he's sure _she'd_ rather get no public attention at all. Asking also appears decidedly un-Slytherin, which can have certain benefits. Posing the question additionally creates a situation in which she can come to know that _he_ is aware she isn't feeling insecure about this. His serpentine reasoning dictates that that should make her more confident and comfortable after the fact, and for some rather complicated reasons, he wouldn't like for her to feel uneasy or embarrassed for having confided in him. The query alters _her_ knowledge, if not his, and it should foster more openness that he is coming to think of as... positive. So with logic that is purely Slytherin, he does. 

She's a bit surprised by the question, mostly because she'd have thought he'd guess her feelings on this matter, but also that he continues to be interested in hearing things she normally thinks of him as avoiding, but she doesn't hesitate to answer, "Oh no, not in the least, neither the publicity nor the appalling hordes of fame-chasing witches. He's welcome to it, and all the so-called fan mail I get, too. That would actually be a relief. 

"The only aspect of it that bothers me at all, I suppose, is he seems less averse to the attention, and the net effect does some wretched things for his ego. It's as though he were getting a regular supply of external, and theoretically objective, confirmation as to his appeal, and once in a while I got the feeling he felt that put him in a better light than it did me. Frankly, I've found that simultaneously insulting and frustrating on more than one occasion. 

"Sometimes, sometimes I think it would be nice to get some validation, too, but I'm positive nothing _I_ want to hear will ever come through those channels." 

The first he had expected, and the second comes as no surprise; Weasley's response was probable. It was truly unfortunate, and he had hoped it wouldn't be the case, but it also came as no great surprise that she herself should still feel such a need for validation. Truthfully, she always had. With report cards, OWLs, NEWTs and her mastery now all behind her, there was no longer a regular 'external, and theoretically objective, confirmation' of her skills and possible worth to her way of thinking. He was sorry she couldn't see herself through his eyes, or those of any of her other colleagues for that matter. He needed to give it some thought. 

"And that, I'm afraid, in a nutshell would be the problem with being so truly unusual," he tells her gently, looking at her very kindly. "The commonplace never has any difficulty finding more of the same. It's the curse of the extraordinary that they are so few and far between. But would _you_ wish to be any other way?"

She looks up at him, blinking, trying with a narrow margin of success to keep her eyes from misting up. It's been quite a day and her nerves are raw, and this is the nicest thing anyone has said to her in a long time. Such a pity she thinks the gist of it is that she is unlikely to find anyone to truly appreciate her anytime soon. 

It's very likely that somewhere in the course of all this, they both question if they respectively are flirting with the other. Because neither one of them is apt to, both immediately reject that possibility: so improbable as to be virtually impossible. It is unfortunately also typical for both of them that neither one of them even remotely considers the possibility that the other one might be flirting with them in turn. 

They walk in silence for a little bit, each lost in their thoughts. Severus is sorry he asked the question after all, because Hermione now seems sad and withdrawn, and he had hoped to achieve exactly the opposite. Somehow despite anticipating the answers, he still managed to misjudge the effect. He's mulling over how to set that right when Hermione takes over. 

She had enjoyed the laughter, and has no desire to turn maudlin now. Thinking back to something he said earlier, she teases him hopefully, "Color me surprised to hear you mentioning Weasley ears. I should have thought that was a sore topic."

He looks at her, and blinks, shocked that she would make of joke of this, but unwilling to flinch in the face of a challenge, he responds dryly, "It was not George's ear with which I was concerned." And now she's blinking, and he marches on relentlessly, "And I do believe he now has a surfeit of extendable ones," he's gesturing grandly with those elegant hands, "and it should no longer be sore in any event." And it's so mischievous and off-color and naughty and somehow she can't help herself and laughs again. It isn't long before he joins in. 

Intuiting the rules to this game she's never played, and apropos of nothing, or maybe it was the Weasleys' ears, when their laughter subsides she grins and says "Ginny's a Harpy." 

Severus takes a beat and then smirks and doesn't disappoint, "Apparently she plays quidditch, as well." And then they're chuckling like a couple of first-years, the sort neither of them ever were, taking potshots with a friend, "us" against "them," and it's nice. Well, maybe not _nice_ , it's fairly mean by Hermione's standards, but goodness is it _fun_. It undoubtedly helps Hermione's conscience that no one is there to hear them, and no one's feelings are hurt in the process. But it _is_ nice not being the "them" for once. And it's _very_ nice being the "us." 

They continue in companionable silence for a ways, the castle now very close, before Hermione gives him an impenetrable look and begins, "Sorry, I'm trying to reason this through: you are considered the best spy the wizarding world has ever known. You are renowned for your information gathering skills." He can think of a couple of ways this is going to break, and none of them are particularly opportune for him. 

"We see each other practically every single day, morning, noon and night." He waits for it. "How on earth could you think I'm still in a relationship with Ronald?"

He is struck suddenly by the realization that thinking of her in a relationship in the general sense seems a good deal less unpleasant than the image of her specifically with Weasley, but he senses that it is simultaneously somehow far more dangerous a line of thought and immediately moves on.

As does she, "Or anyone else for that matter? I think it may be an _actual_ requirement of a relationship to see one another, or at least interact on occasion. When on earth do you think I've been conducting such a relationship?"

He wisely keeps his mouth shut. (His first thought is a mortified, ' _She thinks I was fishing and is seeking proof_.' ' _About as well as a Gryffindor could_.' ' _Directly_.') For an incredibly short moment he panics. And _then_ he realizes she has just told him she's single. Unattached. 

_Available._

' _Merlin_.'

He quickly begins to assess whether that was a calculated reveal, and then _immediately_ endeavors to think of _that_ as little as humanly possible.

Fortunately, she's quick to distract him. "Or did you think I was canoodling with Hagrid?" 

His eyebrows raise so high, they are in danger of disappearing into his hairline, but he prevails "That had crossed my mind, Hagrid the reprobate _canoodler_ that he is," somehow the word 'canoodler' rolling off his tongue is twice as funny, "but I assumed you wouldn't wish to cross Olympe." He pauses a beat, and she looks up at him. "She'd make _short_ work of you."

In response she merely raises an eyebrow in her best imitation of him, and at that they both stop walking and start laughing again. It's only the amazed looks on the faces of a small group of students rushing past, presumably hurrying to get back for dinner, that shake him out of it.

Reaching to pull him again into motion, she says "Come on then, let's go home." The castle somehow now seems much too close.

Joining her, he's reminded of her earlier comment vis-à-vis "home," and relying on the ease of their exchanges now dares to ask, "Before, when you mentioned the students going home, you were talking about anywhere _but_ here. Where then is 'home' for you now?"

He's judged correctly. There's no pain at the question. She's still not offended by his curiosity, on the contrary, she takes it as a sign of a growing friendship between them, and without a trace of hurt or dissemblance easily answers, "Why _here_ , of course. Where else? It's purely a frame of reference. _They_ go to _their_ homes. I'm at _mine_." And she smiles brightly.

He almost feels sorry for her, but hesitates because by extension it means he'd have to feel sorry for himself. Finally he decides it's because he would have wished for more for her. _She_ deserved better. 

She senses only some of what he's thinking and chuckles, "So we're in the same boat." 

When his brow furrows in response, she laughs and gently rests her fingers on his arm again, "It's a fine boat," and she suddenly realizes, although she thinks of him as "Severus," he still hasn't offered to let her call him by his given name, and deciding discretion is the better part of valor, settles for "Professor, and it's quite seaworthy; do look more pleased. Now come on, let's go home. Dinner is waiting."

And with that she pulls him towards the doors and into the castle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Christmas Eve at Hogwarts and where do our favorite Professors go from here? Given Severus' preferred dance move is one step forward, three steps back, back, back preferably right into recalcitrant bits of greenery, we'll have to rely on Hermione to teach him some new moves.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N:  
>  **"Get thee to a nunnery"** \- Shakespeare, "Hamlet" - Well, there's some debate, and depending on which English / Literature instructor you have, "nunnery" means "convent," "brothel" or both. The difference is not immaterial, but amusing.  
>   
> 
> **"Brevity is the soul of wit."** \- Shakespeare, "Hamlet" 
> 
>    
>  **"Discretion is the better part of valor."** \- Shakespeare, "Henry IV"


	7. Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve is fast approaching, and Severus can't seem to get out of his head, which wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't such a bloody gloomy place to be. 
> 
> Hermione's got a problem that he means to try to sort, and the two of them celebrate Christmas Eve with recalcitrant bits of greenery.

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  JKR owns the lot. I own bugger all, and shan't profit in the least. (Except for kudos and comments, both of which are lovely and appreciated (*nudge nudge, wink wink*), but pay neither the mortgage nor fill my tummy, so the attack!lawyers can happily chill. Presumably.)
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Previously:**  
>   Severus and Hermione ran into one another near the Fae's Yule celebrations and made their way back to the castle together. Conversation ensued, much of it awkward.
> 
> A... _hug_ probably happened. It made sense at the time. A snuggle most definitely was _not_ attempted, not even reflexively, under any circumstances _whatsoever_. To think so is madness. _Clearly_.
> 
> Unless you ask Hermione. She'll tell you otherwise, because she's fairly honest that way.
> 
> But they walked and talked and seemed to get along and found it not altogether loathsome to spend time in each other's company. Possibly comforting even. Merlin, they may have actually _enjoyed_ it. But only a bit.
> 
> And then laughter took place. Rather a lot. Weird, but in a nice kind of way. They were feeling a tad punchy. Go figure. 
> 
>   
> 

### Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 1

-~SS/HG~-

Laughter, as they say, is the best medicine. ('" _They_ " _are idiots_.' ' _Without question_.') Poppy Pomfrey would have no issue going on record begging to differ, and Severus would also volunteer that he'd prefer antivenin if he were faced with a choice and the thrice damned snake again. But there's no disputing: it feels good to have laughed.

So good, that he feels lighter, less encumbered somehow. Even a bit more relaxed. 

He has almost one. good. day. (' _Almost_.')

That first evening after dinner, his mood markedly improved, he settles in with his tomes and scrolls and researches quite productively well into the night in front of a comforting fire in his chambers. Due diligence requires that he first reexamine his notes on the Fae, as both he and Hermione may be affected. 

Perhaps because he was Headmaster at the time, or maybe because the castle itself has gained enough sentience to have been able to recognize the _need_ , he was able to create a protected area in which to store his notes on the antivenin and his associated Fae investigations. Interestingly, that hidden niche seems to have moved as well when his rooms were relocated (' _lending credence to the theory on the castle's involvement_ '). Effectively, he was able to cause an entire desk and its contents to vanish and reappear at will, as needed, much along the lines of the Room of Requirement and without vulnerability to a Finite Incantatum. This made things both simpler and safer. 

Concealing Charms wouldn't hold up to a targeted Aparecium (Revealing Charm). His other options included encoding everything manually (' _I hadn't the_ time _for it_!') or using a Encryption charm of his own devising (' _less secure_...'); neither of those options are very satisfactory in precision work such as Potions. Any mistakes in the translation processes could be _literally_ fatal errors. (' _And both of_ those _solutions require two steps to be of use. That_ doubles _the risk_!') Even now, more than three years later, he finds the thoughts most upsetting and still remains incredibly _moved_ by the castle's protection.

Perusing his notes with the liberal application of a Search spell he created for such purposes, he quickly determines that there is nothing to be found in them about what this new "favor" might entail. The literature suggests that the Fae are frequently active of their own volition, that their actions aren't always appreciated (' _bloody marvelous_ '), and that they take offense, _demonstratively_ (' _naturally_ '), when their "gifts" aren't appreciated. (' _So another potential... complication looming in the wings_.' ' _Splendid_.') He will simply have to ask Hermione if she can provide more details because Mab had said very little to him directly, leaving him with even less to work with.

With no answers to be found there, he quickly advances to Hermione's other problem. Several avenues of inquiry as to how he might be able to reverse the effects of a severe and long term Obliviation crystallize as the night wears on, and he begins to work his way through them. 

Until he is able to gather more information, he proceeds by addressing the intersection of the most promising leads and least likely to have been attempted, those with the greatest likelihood that they shan't have been investigated by others. First on his list are two potions making use of some very rare and potentially... questionable ingredients. He dispatches a number of owls to begin the acquisition process; he has sufficient funds, having lived quite ascetically, and insufficient qualms that combine optimally to enable him to do so without hesitation.

There's a third potion which requires some very grey Charms work to brew, in addition to being quite complex, and he is confident no one will have been able to procure it for experimentation. And then there are some approaches in dark tomes he recalls from the Malfoys' library that could yet be consulted, once he secures access. That could prove problematic in light of some of the suspicion still lingering over him in the wake of the war, but he's willing to damn the consequences and work around any chafing restrictions. (' _Some things never change_.')

He deems the research fruitful and is cautiously optimistic. He is fairly Machiavellian in nature, less concerned with the path taken than the results achieved, a cynical pragmatist. He knows this will not be true of the others who have tried to help, with the notable and very intriguing exception, it would seem, of Hermione herself, the witch who had the courage to do this in the first place to save her parents' lives.

He wants to see that courage rewarded.

Truthfully, that's only part of the reason he is trying to help her, his motivations altogether too convoluted for him to fully understand. No question, he enjoys a challenge, and he's been a bit bored of late. It's equally obvious that he still feels a need to prove himself (' _useful_ ' he grits defensively, ' _worthwhile_ ' the sap sadly corrects) to those around him. His standing is no longer (' _completely_ ') in question, he's the "Light's Greatest Spy," but on bad days he often asks himself what he ever achieved other than killing Dumbledore (' _with his cooperation, no less, so scarcely an impressive accomplishment_ ').

Maybe he's helping because he wished people had helped _him_ , overlooking all of the help he has in fact received. He'd scoff at that (' _What help_?!'), but if he had noticed, he would have refused it, actively sabotaging the necessary efforts. Almost any help given must be subtle. (' _Subtlety_! _From_ Gryffindors?!' for they tend to be the decision makers and action takers around him...) It's too easy for him to believe he is on his own, as he has been most of his life.

Insidiously, some lingering doubts will always remain as to his motives, as to his methods. The most tenacious doubts are fueled, in part, by the guilt those judging him might otherwise experience if they ever admitted that they could have or should have done more _themselves_. Filius is a prime example. It's easier to question if Severus absolutely _had_ to do something than it is to ask if one shouldn't have done more oneself. But if Severus' methods are able to help Hermione, it's further validation of his choices. Then _and_ now, to his way of thinking.

There are at least two further reasons for his dedication that Severus won't even consider admitting to himself. The first because it paints him in too positive a light: he is incredibly loyal. Once he has decided to do something, to commit to someone or some cause, he will go to incredible lengths. To ridiculous extremes. He has determined Hermione is worth helping, and without any great fanfare he will do so or be damned. He certainly doesn't expect to _die_ for this, but also doesn't balk at disproportionate amounts of effort. The second reason, so simple and complex all at once, explains to some extent why he feels _she_ is deserving of his assistance: he likes her; of course under _no_ circumstances will such a thought be allowed to form in his mind.

So the next morning immediately after breakfast, he promptly seeks out Minerva, and asks her if she would kindly provide him with information about what has been undertaken to help Professor Granger's parents. She's surprised he knows of the situation, given Hermione's problems with the Ministry, but not in the least that he should want to help now that he does. Minerva's known Severus almost three quarters of his life, and has a much higher, and more accurate, opinion of him than he is sadly ever likely to have of himself. She feels that doesn't begin to make up for the year she doubted him, and remains constant in her support. 

She provides him with an extremely detailed and well organized list of everything tried, and by whom. He suspects she does that to allow him to better assess the probable quality of the various efforts without having to disparage colleagues herself. (' _A move almost worthy of a Slytherin_.' ' _Best to go over all ground "covered" by Horace again_...' ' _Amongst others_.') He's impressed by the quality of information she is able to provide with no forewarning, but not surprised. Minerva has always been one of his most respected associates.

When she is done, recognizing some of Severus' fondness for Hermione and with an innate propensity to meddle, she can't help asking him why he still persists in calling her "Professor Granger," but takes pity and adds Neville to the question so as not to embarrass her retiring friend too terribly. He's wondered about that since yesterday, to be honest, but had comforted himself with the knowledge that he doesn't call Longbottom "Neville" either, so Minerva's rephrasing is indeed a helpful diversion. 

He realized he's _never_ been the one to suggest a less formal basis; it's something others do, and he submits. Or not. But his co-workers until now have all been older than he is, as he began teaching at the youngest possible age, or (' _very rarely_ ' ' _damn werewolf_ ') the same age, and he's simply never extended anyone the courtesy of a more familiar form of address.

Minerva prods that their younger colleagues might appreciate it if he did address them by their first names, but relents when Severus appears unsuitably tortured by the suggestion. That amuses her, in a way that speaks directly to her blackest of humors. 'Cruciatus? No problem. Keep them coming. Social niceties? Oh, _please_ , make it stop.' She can read it in his face like a scroll. She doesn't understand him, she never will, but she cares for him a great deal.

He leaves her office (he likes it so much better now that it _isn't_ his own, ' _or Dumbledore's_.' ' _Quite_.') with plenty of notes (' _Self-Writing Quills are a mercy_ ,' and Fred again gambols through his thoughts, ' _because of course he does_ ,' pirouetting before he leaves) and a few new ideas he'd like to explore. Arriving back at his quarters, he begins to double check the work done to date, dispatching a few owls to ask more in depth questions of the individuals who put the various measures into action. For the most part, with very few exceptions, he remains confident that either nothing was overlooked, but the attempts were merely doomed to failure by design, or that the remainder had so little promise of _being_ successful, that the quality of the approaches was inconsequential. He resolves to continue pursuing his leads from the previous night.

The timing for his talk with Minerva was extremely fortuitous. By lunchtime, rumors about Professor Snape have reached every house, in turn giving rise to a great deal of laughter at their absurdity. Or perhaps his. His mood darkens over the next several days accordingly.

-~SS/HG~-

On some level he is aware that things have improved since the war, but this is still a very poor approximation of a pleasant work environment. But then, there's been a dearth thereof. (When has his environment ever been _nice_ \- work, school, home or otherwise?) He knows of such things only anecdotally. Or through observation of others, living, it sometimes seems, in a world parallel to his own; shared locations with vastly differing personal realities. If he were to reflect on it, which he attempts to avoid at all costs, preferring to suppress the memories for all he's worth, he would recognize a significant improvement over his year as headmaster where the staff and student body flitted about the school like the personification of a Dementor with their hate and loathing sucking his soul dry day for day. This _is_ better. But as absolute statements go, it wouldn't say all that much.

Unfortunately, it seems that the concept of laughter's salubrious effects needs further qualifying.

Laughing _with_ someone is lovely, even the acerbic Potions Master would agree. Laughter itself is beneficial for blood pressure, immune response, and even causes endorphins to be released (although he has potions for all of that). On the other hand, laughter is a good deal _less_ healthy when it is directed _at_ someone. Sometimes, it seems, prepositions make _all_ the difference. Laughing _about_ someone, as Severus comes to decide (' _as the "someone" in this particular question_ ,' ' _typically_ ') is the most accurate description for what occurs over the next few days, whilst assuredly less... disagreeable than being laughed "at," is not particularly therapeutic for that someone in the least.

-~SS/HG~-

Eyewitness accounts, were one inclined to believe such rubbish, would have Professor Snape _seen_ , in _public_ , _laughing_ on the lawn before the main doors early one evening this week, possibly as recently as yesterday. The rumors of this are universally regarded as _so_ absurd, so _incredible_ , that in short time they are so utterly discredited as to have even the witnesses themselves questioning what they saw. Clearly, it was not _that_.

Possibly Polyjuice. Or a Compulsion charm. Theories of an Imperious are bandied about, considered (far) more likely than the actual truth, and lead to very fruitful discussions about the limitations on the applications of Unforgivables in the extracurricular DADA practice sessions over the next several days. Speculation runs wild as to the theoretical qualifications of the caster of such a curse for it even to be a remote possibility wielded against someone with the established skills set of the reticent Potions Master. That in turn promotes yet more lively debate, both in the Great Hall at meals and the inter-house DADA NEWT study group.

The latest Wizards of the World quartet set from Flourish and Blotts suggests that, beyond Voldemort himself, perhaps only Bellatrix would have been successful at such an undertaking, although that discovery was followed by heated argument as to how much of their perceived superiority was due to feigned subservience on Snape's part. Given that both Voldemort and Bellatrix are reasonably certainly deceased (' _as dead as doornails_ '), having conveniently gone so far as to die on the school grounds, as all agree, and as the Ravenclaws point out F&B's research has been found wanting on more than one occasion, the discussion usually stalls there. Typically, the Chocolate Frog trading cards were largely useless on such topics, failing completely to meet any academic standards, regardless how lax.

The general consensus is that even Dumbledore shouldn't have been successful at such an attempt, although the mere suggestion, either that he would _consider_ trying or that he could _fail_ if so, causes the small number of Gryffindor sixth and seventh years remaining for the holidays to assault their Ravenclaw counterparts who dared suggest such a thing in the interest of academic exchange. (' _Possibly. There's a brunette amongst their number that enjoys a spot of conflict and should probably have been sorted into Slytherin_.' ' _In an earlier time, she undoubtably would have been_...' the sap agrees with no small amount of regret.) 

The pugnacious Gryffindors, he is satisfied to note, will be serving detention with Filch when the term resumes in January, although the modified sticking charm used to apply one of the Christmas trees inverted to the charmed ceiling over the Ravenclaw table is proving tricky to undo. The points awarded for ingenuity almost made up for the points the attack cost them. (' _Were Dumbledore still among us, it would most likely have exceeded them_.' His lips press together to a thin line in frustration just at the thought.)

The Slytherins remain firm: it cannot be done; Snape is effectively curse- and hex-proof. Even McGonagall never landed a single blow when she went up against him with everything she had in what she considered to be no-holds-barred combat, and she is widely regarded as quite competent. _That_ skirts the topics embargoed by the Headmistress herself so closely that a few Hufflepuffs deliberate coming forward and turning in the entire group, themselves included, for disciplinary action. Only the gentling tongues of some quick-witted Ravenclaws, fast at hand with their ever present (' _if sometimes questionable_ ') logic (' _I'll not hear a word said against it_ '), are able to dissuade them from their intentions and keep the lot of them from Filch's fingers. 

It was a close call.

No one, absolutely no one, attaches any significance _whatsoever_ to the fact that the generally well-liked and respected Professor Granger was supposed to have been seen laughing with the sullen man, as it is abundantly clear that there is nothing at all to be thought of it. She most likely _wouldn't_ have laughed with him, and _if_ she had, it would have had no deeper meaning. The opinion of the otherwise so dissentious student body is unanimous for once. No deliberation is required for the inherently obvious.

Initially, Severus is annoyed to have been discussed at all. Subsequently, he finds himself even _more_ affronted to be so easily discounted. He steadfastly doesn't consider that that actually matters if, and only if, he prefers to think their interlude held any particular appeal for _her_. (' _And why shouldn't someone wish to laugh with me_?' ' _I'm sure if you asked, the majority of people present here could provide you with lists of reasons._ Lengthy _lists_.' The sap is an _ass_.) 

In light of the collective disbelief that he could be capable of anything remotely resembling amiable intercourse, and the deleterious effect that is admittedly having on his disposition, he is relieved the... _arms thing_ went unwitnessed. He's fairly certain his nerves wouldn't have been up for the dissection and intense analysis that would have likely drawn. But on some level he can't help wondering if that knowledge might have helped make the concept of him in conversation, and _laughing_ by association, more relatable or believable in context.

He fails completely to take any comfort from the still fairly new absence of argument about his now generally recognized and acknowledged skills, a change most of his standing would have savored. Truthfully, if he were known as greatest British wizard of his time, which he may well be at this moment (' _as everyone else seems to have conveniently_ died,' he snarks, in the process discounting the vast majority who _survived_ ), to his mind it still wouldn't eliminate the dark cloud oppressively hanging over his reputation. Belated but rightfully deserved acknowledgment is proving no consolation for him. Or so he thinks. In the long run, it may well have beneficial effects on his psyche, as the abatement of resentment is like to do, but when it does, he'll no longer be able to intuit the cause.

-~SS/HG~-

He finds himself even more surly than usual, having fatally underestimated how long it would take Hermione to get on to her latest house elf thing and the effects thereof, and he has only himself to blame. (' _Incautious fool_!') By the second evening, changes had begun to take place. His only consolation has been her sad, sad face in the mornings confronted with lackluster coffee (misery, it seems, _loves_ company), not to overlook her obviously growing agitation, presumably as she is also suffering from caffeine withdrawal. It's a cold comfort.

With Minerva's traitorous blessing, the morning beverage selection now no longer includes his tea of choice, an FTGFOP1 Grade (' _far too good for ordinary persons_ ,' he scoffs out of habit and condescension) decoction with sufficient caffeine to fuel the night shift of any muggle police, press or medical institution. The elves crush it for him in the kitchens before brewing to increase the caffeine released, but they never serve him Broken Grade teas to avoid lower quality fannings or dust. (' _Or they used to. Now they seem to be serving swill_.' ' _Or possibly dishwater_ ,' they commiserate together.) 

He used to really love the elves for their effort, or maybe he just loved the cuppa, but he can't appreciate one without the other. He may not be vocal in his recognition, but that doesn't diminish his gratitude in the least. The withdrawal isn't proving pretty, but then that's not a term by which he's normally measured. 

As a Potions master of some repute, he _should_ be able to compensate for this with any of a number of things from his stores (in fact, the number of those with which he could do so is worthy of note, and he gives thought to adding that question to the next fourth year semester examination). Unfortunately, he is nearly as stubborn as he is gifted (' _it is the_ principle _of the matter_ '), and he finds himself wholly unwilling to bend to accommodate this for the sake of mere dietary inconveniences. 

And so he stalks the halls darkly, a mass of under-caffeinated swirling dark robes (' _Although no longer always solely black_ ,' he'd like it noted. ' _Which is a sartorial progression_ ,' the sap concurs), giving rise in a vicious circle to even more dispute as to how the image of a _laughing_ Snape could have been conjured, or what _fools_ would have believed it, much to the chagrin of the poor Hufflepuffs who initially reported it. Oddly, no one thinks to just ask Hermione about the matter, and excluded from such discourse, she never has an opportunity to defend his, admittedly very occasional, good humor.

-~SS/HG~-

In the interim, Severus thinks a good deal about that evening with Hermione, and not just because the entire school body seems unwilling to let him forget it for an instant. Although the related ridicule makes him angrier and angrier, and he can feel himself withdrawing, somehow he still can't forget the magnificent orange peel citrusy scent of her hair as she held him, or the way it lingered on him after she was gone. (That he asked the elves to bring him some orange peel potpourri for his chambers to relax him as he worked is _pure_ coincidence, or possibly related to the season... But he also can't deny that it proved... _motivating_ (' _inspiring_?') as he worked on her parents' problem.) He can't stop thinking about her embrace. ('HUG!' ' _Aha! Then we are in agreement: it was a_ "hug"?' He _hates_ the sap.) The warmth of her, the weight of her hands on his arms, on his chest...

He still finds much of that evening inexplicable. He can't help wondering (' _fearing_?' he tries to ignore the sap without much success) if the Fae in some way... Maybe the incense? Perhaps when Mab touched them both, some substance that causes... _something_ on contact? It's very unclear, even in his own mind. He'd like to believe it was an honest interaction, but he mistrusts the ease of their conversation and particularly its depth. He questions, gravely, that she should be so willing to touch him. _Repeatedly_. 

To make matters worse, he finds himself considering her _availability_. Frequently. At all hours. Many inconvenient. (' _If not all_.') Or trying _not_ to. It's confounding, particularly as he can't seem to decide which of the two he should be doing. Or would prefer to do. (' _One would think that last at least would be easy to determine_.' ' _One would once again be mistaken_.' ' _As "one" so often is_...') He fails to see why it should be worth thinking on overmuch. _She_ remains the same witch she was the week before, with the same degree of availability she has apparently had for quite some time now. (Vaguely he is aware that should mean he should expect (' _or fear_ ') no changes in her behavior in the near future.) Unless he has suddenly developed an interest in the human condition (' _Ha_!'), this should be no more than a minor news item, or perhaps a further example of the vagaries of life, for if desirable witches can't find happiness, what chance has he? 

He manages despite his prodigious intelligence not to reason any of this sufficiently through to the point of realizing that her single status is only truly of significance if _he_ has some manner of feelings for her, his mind a nearly impenetrable bastion of denial. Much the same as it never occurs to him that his discomfort at holding a witch he had mistaken for unavailable increases in inverse correlation to the chasteness of his feelings, or in direct correlation to the lack thereof. In the absence of amorous inclinations, the distinction "taken" or "not" _should_ be immaterial. Or is he now concerned with _propriety_? Had he thought it, both he and the sap would have scoffed again in unison.

Not surprisingly, the net effect of such ruminations on his mood isn't positive. And so he stalks about more, getting nowhere awfully fast.

-~SS/HG~-

Before he knows it, Christmas Eve sneaks up on the castle. As he storms into the Great Hall for dinner, he practically reels back upon discovering Minerva has well and truly out-Dumbledored herself with the decorations. (He is _certain_ that's a perfectly legitimate descriptive term for... _this_ , and his inner voice seems now to have also sprouted inner hands suitable for quite unsubtle mental gesticulation. ' _Well, that's "mental" for you alright_.' ' _The clear advantage being that it cannot be seen_.' Some undignified mental gestures follow in emphasis of that claim.) The end of term holiday trappings seem to have multiplied in a _most_ unrestrained fashion, no doubt to make the large but comparatively empty hall feel somehow more... _cozy_ (he can't help thinking the term with a sneer, and his inner voice is laced with a very decided note of disdain).

"Comparative" is of course _relative_ (' _by definition_ ,' he snorts at his inner wit), as the numbers of those remaining over the break have greatly increased from a few years prior. Pre-war. His expression clouds reflexively.

The majority of children stuck here ( _definitely_ his words for it, as he often feels he himself is, too) for the holidays are his Slytherin charges, either orphaned by the war, or de facto parentless due to sentences in Azkaban having been liberally doled out after the fall of the Dark Lor... (' _Voldemort_ ') Voldemort. There but for the grace of... Potter... he shudders at the thought. Visibly. 

So much so, in fact, that a young Arithmancy professor, who has appeared unexpectedly behind him, inquires after his well being, further irritating his Potter antipathy by association. Or perhaps it's the other way around. _Either_ way, his eyes widen slightly, but he recovers quickly and makes the appropriate, satisfactorily consoling noises, and then (' _silently_ ') admonishes himself to be more circumspect. Unfortunately, now that she seems to have sensed an "in," there is apparently no (' _socially acceptable_ ') stopping her (' _shy of hexing_...' ' _no, sadly_ still _not socially acceptable_...'), and she carries on as if they were having an actual _conversation_... In public. (' _Merlin forfend_.')

After the widespread mockery of the past few days, contained as it may have been but _still_ reducing him to a _laughingstock_ , this is the _last_ thing he needs. (' _Actually_ ,' the sap can't resist, ' _there's quite a number_...' ' _Enough_.')

But there's nothing for it. She natters on. _Wittering_. She's been working regularly with Filius, and she is considering the pursuit of a Charms mastery in addition to her Arithmancy (' _as one does_ ,' he was in fact vaguely aware of this and couldn't help reinforcing his mental image of her as the swot to end all swots, _not_ like himself _in the least_ of course) in the absence of _preferable_ options, and she would like very much (' _with her fifteen minutes of experience, ta muchly_ ') to work with him on incorporating charms in the potion brewing process. As if he had never _done_ such a thing. Daily. _Bint_. He's tired just from _listening_ to her. ( _'Due, no doubt, in part to the run on sentence_.' Or was there punctuation he had failed to note?) Merlin, does she ever make him feel _old_. Full stop.

And yet. 

It is... he casts about for a term and settles perplexingly on... " _nice_ " with no small degree of revulsion, but he can find no better word for it... yes: _nice_ , for someone to take an interest in his work, his field of expertise, as more than just a black box or an implement to affect some result. ('" _Make it so_ " _without a care_ how, _like_ some _I could mention_.' ' _But would prefer not to_ ,' the sap nods in knowing agreement.) 

To have someone, and not a completely addlepated cretin at that, show interest in the processes to which he has dedicated his academic _life_... Well, yes, that's somewhat appealing, by Salazar, as indeed, is the young witch inquiring... and at _that_ his thoughts grind to an immediate halt, momentum be damned. (In _his_ mind castle, the laws of physics do not apply. ' _That's what Arresto Momentum is for. Nit._ ') But still, before he can fathom it or any possible repercussions, he finds himself _engaging_ with her (' _of all things_ '), and (' _surely not_ ') making tentative _plans_ to pursue her experiments in the new year. (' _Merlin's hairy_ ball sack, _what the blazes was that_??') 

He is, in fact, so completely flabbergasted at this realization, that he momentarily neglects to pay more than rudimentary attention to his surroundings, and so it happens that he stumbles into one of those thrice damned mistletoe traps. ' _Damn those Weasleys_ ,' he rails internally, but only the once, before immediately remembering that it's "Weasley" _singular_ these days, and his anger dissipates completely at the thought. 

When the briefest of moments later his appealing (' _appealing_???') conversation partner bumps into him and also finds herself in the trap, her thoughts seem much the same as she lets out a sad sigh of "Fred" before turning her attention again to Severus. 

His distraction in considering the same Weasley of pranks past had slowed his reaction _just_ enough to fail to stop her from joining him in this bit of encapsulated mortification, it can't have been deliberate, although his inner Slytherin recognizes quite readily that this is probably the best way to have vouchsafed his freedom. Who else would have voluntarily come to his rescue? Best to have someone _forced_ to do so. (' _And of course it doesn't hurt that she's_ appealing...' and _once again_ there is a near audible screech in his mind as though someone had scraped a needle across an entire LP. ' _With the amplifier set to eleven_.' *scoff* ' _Hopefully it wasn't an album anyone would wish to hear again, as it will certainly skip_...') Much, in fact, as his heart does when mere beats later...

So distracted is he by his inner conversations, that the moment where her expression changes from attentive to good natured resolve (so unfamiliar to him that he loses yet another moment struggling to recognize it) escapes him entirely, and so he is _completely_ thrown when her hands reach up to steady herself on his shoulders and she extends on _tiptoe_ , no less, (' _how patently_ absurd') to place a gentle kiss on his lips. He finds himself blinking rapidly, and somehow still not missing it (' _but it's: "blink and you miss it," is it not_?'), which has him wondering, rather a lot, about the length of this... oh, words just fail. And as he returns to the present, he is greatly puzzled to determine that this, _whatever_ it is, is still ongoing. (' _Merlin_.') 

' _Why on earth hasn't she cut and run_?'

The mistletoe trap springs audibly open as a delicate and naked hand smoothly snakes up and over the back of his neck, skin on rapidly warming skin, entwining itself in his hair and pulling him closer as their lips join. In the distance, far, far off from the sound of it (or are his ears ringing?), some of his ill-mannered colleagues are catcalling (the students, thankfully, remain too cowed to consider such a thing), and _still_ soft lips connect with his own. It's chaste, not in the least _inappropriate_ per se, just inexplicable in its _still occurring_. (' _Merlin_.')

But decidedly not altogether unpleasant. 

' _Fine. It's pleasant_.'

' _Fine. It's_ more _than pleasant_.'

But it's also bloody _inexplicable_ , and he is _definitely_ not a fan of the unexplained. 

And as the sound of the calls of his colleagues become clearer (or perhaps his ears stop their insistent ringing), she too comes to her senses and releases him. He takes a giant step back from the offending greenery and the most bewildering witch still standing under it, clearing the path for her imminent flight. He waits (and waits) for her to run away, and when she fails to do so, he briefly considers doing it himself, but quickly agrees with her (' _for_ surely _that must have been her thought process_ ') that it would be undignified and only make matters worse. (' _Never allow the Grindylows to scent blood_.') And so with head held high, and the blood still thundering through his ears, he follows her to the table set for the Christmas Eve feast, mimicking her dignity and grace as best he can. (Undoubtedly a poor showing on his part, but what can he do?)

In the face of her _utter_ absence of embarrassment (' _surely a BAFTA-worthy performance_ ' if ever he's seen one) and her (' _frankly disturbing_ ') abundance of bonhomie, the catcalls come to a surprisingly quick conclusion and the evening proceeds much as though "it" had never happened. Even Filius fails to tease him. Mostly. Minerva says nary a _word_ in chastisement. Briefly considering this, he is forced to admire the young witch's approach to handling the affair. Any action _he_ would have taken would almost certainly have led to far more ... unpleasantness. 

Yet, that hardly feels the right word to describe the events of the evening. (' _Surely "more" denotes that it was at least in part unpleasant_...')

And if he's honest, it most certainly _wasn't_ , for it was a pleasant evening indeed. 

' _Circe, how did that happen_?'

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter:**  
>  We catch up with Hermione, and see how she's spent the last couple of days. She gets some unexpected owls, which she kindly feeds, and celebrates Christmas Eve and Christmas.
> 
>  
> 
> **A/N:**  
>  **Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, kudoing and bookmarking. You guys are über-lovely.** Especially for not thwacking me on my spelling of "Gryffindor." Extremely kind, thanks, folks! 
> 
> I wasn't kidding about not using English much, and basically I do whatever the spellchecker says. It knew to autocomplete "Hogwarts" and "Dumbledore," which I admit surprised me, so I assumed it had the houses set, too. More fool I.
> 
> And, honestly, what do I know? I got sorted into Slytherin (as is fitting and proper ;-)), and which I know how to spell. :-p
> 
> But seriously, feel free to nudge me when things need sorting. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Quotes and such:**  
>  **"As dead as a doornail,"** Shakespeare is credited with cementing this phrase in modern language when he wrote these lines in King Henry VI, Part II, Act IV, Scene 10 for Jack Cade: "Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more."
> 
> The phrase can be traced back at least to the 14th century, but probably not in anything any of us are likely to read. 
> 
> Similarly, he gets props for **"laughing-stock"** in the "Merry Wives of Windsor," Act III Scene I, Sir Hugh Evans says "Pray you let us not be laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends. "
> 
> Once again, "laughingstock" (hyphenated and as two words) was around before Shakespeare used it, but he's probably the oldest source most people today are likely to still read.
> 
>  
> 
> **Soapbox:**  
>  I refer to Severus as Machiavellian. If you are interested in my thoughts on that, I'll put them in a comment.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Ginger :-)


	8. Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday. While Severus is researching elsewhere in the castle, Hermione's reflecting. We find out what Draco's been up to, and maybe Hermione isn't quite as friendless as she fears.
> 
> **Incredibly minor ginger and Potter bashing occur.** Hardly worth mentioning, really...

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  JKR owns the lot. I own bugger all, and shan't profit in the least. Except for kudos and comments, both of which are lovely and appreciated. (*nudge nudge, wink wink*)
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Previously:**  
>  Hermione visits with the Queen of the Fae. Mab decides Hermione's life needs improving, whilst Hermione's a bit unsure what to make of that. She'll need to give it ~~some~~ _lots_ of thought.
> 
> Immediately after, Hermione ran into Severus in the Forbidden Forest and they returned to the castle together. They talked and laughed, and Hermione, swept up in the moment, even gave the stunned Potions Master a hug.
> 
> She hasn't had an evening this nice in a long time. 
> 
>   
> 

### Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 2

-~HG/SS~-

Hogwarts, Thursday 21st December, Hermione

Hermione feels positively energized after her talk with Severus. She's let people she doesn't respect ( _well, the Ministry_ , ' _the same_ ') dictate her behavior for too long out of fear of a punishment she isn't even sure they would have the... guts to exact. ( _It_ should _be a publicity nightmare_.)

Talking with Severus has been _liberating_ , and she feels a renewed sense of purpose. Simultaneously, she feels lighter somehow. Less encumbered. 

_That_ may be going around. 

It's odd, but refreshing and extremely welcome. Laughing in itself will certainly have helped. And their conversation has doubtlessly done so very much more. 

In fact, everything's _more_. 

She enjoys _dinner_ far more than usual. The _food_ tastes better than it did this morning, or yesterday, or all term really. The _decorations_ seem more beautiful. The _conversations_ with colleagues and the remaining students are more engaging than usual. (' _That, of course, would be the give away that the change is_ internal.') She has more _fun_. All told, she has a perfectly _lovely_ meal before retiring to her rooms to get to work.

That first evening she finds herself in far and away the best mood she's been in in _so_ long, she really can't remember when she last felt better. She senses that she should leave it at that imprecise appraisal, and she's correct, because if she thinks in too much detail about all the times she's been less happy in recent months, that good mood will probably dissipate. Quite thoroughly.

And so after dinner, before she has a chance to forget anything, although with Hermione's near eidetic recall, that should be very unlikely, she sits down and makes a list of the things Queen Mab told her. For some things the gist will do, for others she considers it safest to make sure she has the exact quote in case it requires further evaluation. The approach is quintessentially Hermione. Naturally.

> "happiness increased" - assume benevolence  
>  lonely  
>  self-isolating for too long  
>  open up to those around me if I "would be happier"  
>  colleague (I am "close to") that I should "consider" (for? / what??) 

First and foremost, largely building on the experience she has had with them in the past, but also relying on how it makes her feel whenever she visits with Mab and her court, she decides she'll take the "happiness increased" comment at face value. She considers them... well meaning. But she is acutely aware that even if the Fae _mean_ well, she herself might feel differently about the results, she combs her fingers wistfully through her tangled locks at the thought. And she has a sneaking feeling they'd take unkindly to any resistance she offered.

But she doesn't know that for _sure_. In fact, she was able to find virtually no nonfictional mention of the Fae in all the research she has done since her first visit to their glade two and a half years ago. If she hadn't been desperate, she wouldn't have pursued it at the time, and if she hadn't had Severus' notes, she wouldn't have known _how_ to. She's not at all sure where he was able to find his information, but she can't help thinking she may need to ask him if he can shed any light on this new, unsolicited boon the Fae seem to have decided she needs to accept. (' _Convoluted, but correct_.') 

She's wary of approaching him, partially because they have never spoken about their visits to the Fae before. She's also not sure how he'll feel about her having used his research, although she has a hard time pinpointing why precisely she thinks that might be an issue. But if they _do_ talk, she'd like to pick his brains as to why he continues to visit them (' _assumably to pay tribute_ '). She'd very much like to know if he had something more concrete to base his actions on, for she was surprised to see him there.

She likes Severus (' _or... something resembling it_ '). She respects him greatly (' _no need to qualify_ that'). He may well be both the most talented and knowledgeable wizard she knows (' _quite probably_ '). But no matter how highly she regards him, there is no denying he is not the... _politest_ person she knows (' _tactful_ '). Yes, that's a safe estimation. It's not that he lacks the culture or polish ( _and somehow she finds herself picturing Ronald's table manners as she thinks that and reflexively shuddering_ ), just that others' sensibilities are most definitely not a priority of his. So it was unexpected to see Severus honoring the Fae, unless he knows a good deal more than she does. (' _Well, that's a given, but topic specific_.')

She's not even really sure why _she_ returns regularly to thank them for their aid, if she's realistic. Severus' notes, the literature seemed to (' _very vaguely_ ') _suggest_ thanks might be viewed as _proper_ , and she is a well-mannered young woman if nothing else. If this is the behavior they expect, she shouldn't like to appear ungrateful. It goes against her grain. It's a minor time commitment, and well worth it to her. She tends to torment herself, extensively, when she doesn't do things she considers "right," so it's probably for the best that she continues her visits. The self-recriminations alone would take longer than the visits ever could.

Additionally, from the tone of Mab's comments, she hopes their assistance will... She struggles. She really hesitates to put this in words. 

She's lonely; it would be nice if that were to change. 

(' _There_.') 

It would be even nicer... 

And again, thinking about it too closely makes her uncomfortable. She has a notion of what she means but chooses not to say, and for the moment, that thought, that amorphous _hope_ is enough. 

Yes, _that_ would be nice indeed.

And it's not that she isn't willing to work at it. She's never been one to laze about. She's capable of expending great effort to achieve her goals. She simply needs to _formulate_ them. 

Reflecting on the past few years, tentatively, so as not to rub salt in her own wounds, she recognizes that she has indeed withdrawn, hidden from the world, buried herself in her studies, barricaded herself in the ivory (' _well, rough-hewn stone_ ') tower of academia, and that that mightn't be as beneficial in terms of personal development as would be sensible. Wise. Healthy. _Desirable_. 

She tries not to think about why that _last_ word makes her breath hitch just a bit. The other words were... words. They were safe. The last one... far less so. It feels a touch dangerous and more than a bit confusing.

She's not comfortable with the concept of " _desire_ " then? How on earth did that happen? When did that happen? _Why_?

Trying to work this through, because she believes the essence of Mab's message is that Hermione _needs_ to change if she wants to be happy, she's really considering things a _lot_ tonight. She's attempting to do the necessary work, and she gives it _serious_ thought. She wouldn't be capable of anything else. She's mature, reasonably disinhibited ( _good grief, sharing the tent for so long with the two boys has left her with precious few illusions_ ), not averse to companionship (' _in the least_ ')... 

So she decides she can primarily thank the failure of her relationship with Ronald and her inability to meet new people for that. It's left her feeling undesirable and somehow... stunted. As though she were _unentitled_ to or incapable of having a relationship, which is patently ridiculous, as really _she_ did most of the heavy lifting with Ronald before it all went pear shaped.

But it doesn't help that with all the publicity that was generated by her role in the war, she finds it effectively impossible to meet anyone new. They either seem to want her for what they think she can do for them, or for who they _think_ she is, but never for the flesh and blood woman stood before them. That just leaves people she knows. 

If she had wanted to date any of the boys she grew up with... Well, there's been plenty of time for that, and not a _one_ of them has caught her fancy. Further, with the notable exception of Malfoy... Draco, none of them can remotely begin to keep up with her, and Draco, well, there's too much bad (' _mud_ ') blood there. ( _She immediately feels guilty for doing that, that wasn't fair_ at all _anymore, but their shared school history_ is _certainly anything but pleasant_.)

Thinking about her friendships and her relative isolation of late, she stops to consider Draco. He is actually a very strange case, she owes him his due, so she feels especially guilty for that cheap shot. Just thinking about him makes her feel somehow better and worse all at the same time. (' _How terrifically ambivalent_.') He and his mother were sentenced to house arrest in the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts. He's been there working with private tutors and a Potions Master ever since. He should complete his mastery this spring, if all goes to plan. Stuck as he is at the Manor, somehow they had fallen into the habit of owling each other to exchange texts. 

Draco had been kind enough to send her an apology owl after his sentencing. She greatly appreciated the timing, because it made it clear he wasn't doing this just to solicit her assistance with the Wizengamot. In the months that followed, desperate as she was to find some way to help her parents, she dared to write to him asking if their library might contain anything that could be of use. ( _She took the liberty of suggesting a number of works_.) The Malfoys' library harbored a number of rare (' _highly restricted_ ') texts which her straits were dire enough to wish to consult when she was trying to find a solution, _any_ solution, to undo the Obliviations. 

Draco trusted her enough to send her some extremely helpful tomes. Had they fallen into the wrong hands, had she betrayed his trust, there could have been very real consequences for him. Serious consequences. He might have ended up next to his father in Azkaban. She truly appreciates that, both his trust and his aid, as well as their potential ramifications. That her efforts weren't ultimately successful was certainly no fault of _his_. He had done far more than she had any right to expect. She for her part regularly supplied him with material from the Hogwarts' library, and they now had sort of an owl-order lending library set up. 

If she thought about that further, she'd realize he can buy anything he needs or wants, so perhaps he, too, is lonely and seeking a connection. But it's been easier for her not to recognize that fact. Likewise, to be fair, she never realizes that with her initial request for help, she demonstrated, certainly her desperation, but also her trust in _him_ to not betray _her_ hunt for darker texts. She'll never understand how much that act meant to him in his isolated position. And of course, he'd never say.

When she completed her Arithmancy mastery, in the shortest span of time ever on record, it should be mentioned, he had sent her a note of congratulations ("Granger, I never doubted for a moment that you would pull it off. Good on you! Now you only need to out-Snape Severus in your classes, and you'll be sorted. Don't hesitate to ask if you need suggestions.") enclosed with a beautiful, ancient and fabulously rare Arithmancy reference gifted from their collection in addition to a recent publication from Flourish and Blotts, clearly purchased for the occasion, on the "History of Corporal Punishment in the Wizarding Classroom" which she sort of assumes was him taking the mickey, or so she very much hopes. Apart from Bridget Wenlock's biography, the highly sought-after seventh edition, from Septima and her first set of teaching robes from Minerva, they were the only gifts she received. When _Malfoy_ remembers your graduation and that you're starting a new position, and then marks the occasion with a gift, and your "best" friends... forget? Well _something_ is topsy turvey.

She still hasn't visited Draco, and she feels somewhat guilty about that. She knows he's stuck there in the Manor, and he must be climbing the walls (' _luxurious and expansive though they may be_ '), but she just can't seem to work up the courage to go back there. If he were anywhere else... But they owl regularly, and that's been nice. 

Thinking of him, and the help and, yes, she'd have to call it a developing _friendship_ he has provided over the past two and a half years, she decides she should get him something for Christmas. She hasn't before; he can buy anything he wants and just the idea of it seemed silly, but since her talk with Severus (' _was it only hours ago_?' _It can't have been longer; she can still catch the scent of him on her hair from when she nuzzled him earlier. Just a hint of bergamot mingling with her citrus_.), she's reconsidering that sometimes it might be nice just to know that someone has thought kindly of you. 

She's already selected a lovely quill for Minerva that she means to pick up at Scribner's this Saturday in Hogsmeade; she thinks she'll get Draco some handmade Japanese folding paper and a book on Origami. The thought of his charmed crane flying across the Potions classroom still makes her smile.

For Filius she already has a packet of the WWW Christmas Charm Combustibaubles (W3C3).

And she wonders, as long as she's getting things for the others, if it wouldn't also be perfectly acceptable to get Severus a token of her... well, perhaps just a little something. For the holidays. There wouldn't be anything to it, would there? 

He might even _enjoy_ it...

And so musing about what might please the reclusive Potions Master, she finally retires for the night looking forward to the next morning in a way she hasn't for quite some time now, with a whiff of bergamot cradling her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter:**  
>  Friday. Hermione speaks to Minerva about the elves, and we find out a little about some of the measures Minerva has taken to improve the situation at Hogwarts for our favorite professors and students in need of aid.
> 
> **Minor ginger and Potter bashing will occur.**
> 
> **A/N:**  
>  Decided to split the monster chapter up into day by day installments to give you something sooner.


	9. Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione talks to Minerva about the house elves, and gives some thought to contacting Harry and Ron. Briefly. We find out what Minerva has done for the Slytherins, and some of the measures she has taken for Severus and the children of the Death Eaters at Hogwarts. 
> 
> A bunch of students decide fighting is the answer to a question nobody asked. Hijinx ensue, or maybe just jinxes. And people just can't seem to stop pfaffing about with the greenery.

> **WARNING:**  
>  Fairly minor ginger and Potter bashing shall occur. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  I still own bugger all and shan't profit in the least. JKR owns the lot.
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Thing you might need to know: outside of Potterdom, a "squib" is something that you light, and it goes "boom." It follows that a wet squib is something you light that doesn't go "boom," but shoulda done and woulda done, presumably, were it not wet. So not, say, a campfire, and more like an explosive. A "damp squib" is therefore synonymous with a "fail." Not to be confused with a "damp squid," which seems almost redundant, dry squids being typically dead, or worse: expelled. 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Previously:**  
>  Hermione visited with the Queen of the Fae. Mab decided Hermione's life needs improving, and Hermione gave it _lots_ of thought.
> 
> Severus and Hermione ran into each other in the Forbidden Forest and returned to the castle together. They talked and laughed, and Hermione, swept up in the moment, even gave the stunned Potions Master a _hug_. He survived, only just.
> 
> Some Hufflepuffs saw the Potions Master laughing and spread the word. Preach!
> 
>   
> 

### Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 3

Mostly Hermione's POV

-~HG/SS~-

Hogwarts, Friday 22nd December, Hermione

It's amazing the difference a day can make. Hermione awakes refreshed and almost cheerful. She did a good deal of introspecting last night, and feels so much the better for it. By and large, she has a firmer grasp of things that she'd like to change in her life, and where some things have gone wrong, or at least not _well_ for her, frequently without her having particularly noticed, which was a disconcerting discovery. All told, it's a satisfying start.

She's still no closer to an idea what to get Severus for Christmas, but seems to have decided she's definitely getting him _something_. (' _Whether he'll appreciate the gesture or not_.') There's a lovely book. (' _That he probably already has or doesn't actually_ want.') Some rare potions ingredients. (' _That he didn't have_ two and a half years ago.' _She knows this because she helped Minerva move his things while he was in hospital_. ' _Hardly something I can count on him_ needing _and yet not_ having.') An attractive fountain pen? ( _And suddenly she feels like she's trying to get away with one stop shopping at Scribner's_...) She'll need to give it some more thought, but hasn't much time to decide. But she's confident she'll think of something by the time she goes to Hogsmeade tomorrow.

And having already thought, quite a lot, about her taciturn colleague this morning, she finds herself rather looking forward to breakfast, and hastens to get ready.

-~HG/SS~-

She can't help the somewhat goofy smile spreading across her face as she enters the Great Hall. She's in a fine mood, and it seems a shame to fight it. _Let_ them think she's daft if they must.

Minerva and Filius have really outdone themselves with the decorating. Looking about, she can't help thinking the decorations are increasing daily the closer it gets to Christmas. That thought just makes her smile more. ( _She's certain her grin now more closely resembles a slightly demented rictus_. ' _There are worse looks_.') She suspects it's a deliberate move on Minerva's part to make the room feel less empty, so the students who have nowhere else to go don't feel as isolated. Minerva is exceptionally thoughtful like that. And usually right.

Tonight or tomorrow at the latest, she expects Minerva will rearrange the house tables to bring the comparatively small group closer together, physically at least, but hearts and minds have a way of following bodies. For the moment, as most of the other students left Wednesday for the holidays and things seem more relaxed or at least less structured than usual, she's pleased to note the students seem to often be seating themselves based more on the classes they share and are learning for, rather than on the houses into which they were sorted. It's a welcome change. The obvious exceptions are the Slytherins, but to some extent also the Gryffindors, who aren't mingling as well as the other two houses. Somehow it still surprises her that the Gryffindors disproportionately self-segregate, but it shouldn't. 

The Slytherins are a different matter. How does the saying go? "It's complicated." It most certainly is. All the problems from a few years before remain, and from a purely analytical standpoint have become worse. Now it isn't just a question of _ideologies_ and prejudices separating them from the rest, although given the ages of many of the children concerned, it's questionable that it ever was an issue of _their_ ideologies, more likely simply parroting those of the respective parents. ( _Case in point, her current amicable relationship with Draco is a perfect example of what's possible without undue influence_.) 

But it's a whole different kettle of Plimpies when your parents are convicts serving their sentences in Azkaban. And undoubtably far worse still to be orphaned with nowhere else to go. It's so much harder for those children to just blend in with the rest as if there were no differences. Exacerbating the situation, a significant number of them come from previously _very_ wealthy families whose assets have been seized since the war, and the struggles with relative poverty are making matters so much worse. 

Surprisingly to those from other houses, this new and severely disparate spectrum of wealth within the house has caused no issues _whatsoever_ amongst the Slytherins themselves; they stoically cling together like a fused unit. For Slytherins, that comes as no surprise. It was a given. Arrangements are made, by those who "have" for those who _don't_ , their basic needs having already been met, and not a one has found themselves, say, in shabby robes or less than impeccable ball wear, no discussion required. There is no external distinction between them. Every head is resolutely held high; they will brook no further shame brought upon their house. 

Regrettably, many of the character traits that caused them to be sorted into Slytherin in the first place have been... _unfortunately_ magnified by the experiences of the last few years. The cynical are so much more so, the aloof have withdrawn further, until they are nearly unreachable, the selfish, the narcissistic... well. And the power hungry, of course, dream of revenge. The constellation is suboptimal, anyone can see that. It takes decisive action to address such problems.

Hermione has admittedly mixed feelings about Dumbledore, but she _does_ respect what he was able to achieve as Headmaster. 

By comparison, however, _Minerva_ has done _so_ much more. First and foremost, any and all children without suitable family or guardians are more than welcome to stay at Hogwarts _year round_. ( _Hermione herself profited from that when she returned for her seventh year, although having helped rebuild the castle and beginning her apprenticeship made it less obviously so_.) Room and board are provided free of charge, in addition to small stipends, for those in need. Further, Minerva and Severus have put together an absolutely amazing summer program for those children. 

One of the most significant projects to come of this, now well into its second year, is the student run potion brewing collective for St. Mungo's, called the "Slytherin Saviors." It's so named because, to date, that's the house each and every participant has belonged to, and because Minerva felt it _incredibly_ important to have good things associated with the house. She was right again, of course. It's amazing in how short a span of time rebranding can take place, or how motivating affordable, _quality_ medicine can be for the masses. In many circles outside of the school, the Slytherin name is _already_ more closely associated with their _potions_ than the war, Riddle or the Death Eaters. And _that_ after only two summers of brewing.

Under Severus' watchful eye, children of _all_ years have been able to brew for the hospital and its outpatient programs. Each student is matched to potions of the appropriate skill level. To near universal surprise, it's been a _resounding_ success. For a small fee, which provides the children both with pocket money and a sense of accomplishment, which is greatly increased when coupled with their brewing achievements and ( _for the the more altruistic among them_ , ' _well, less selfish_ ') the _help_ they are providing others, the children are brewing many desperately needed potions, and saving the patients untold galleons in the process. Severus, a world class Potions Master, oversees the entire project and validates each and every vial personally, and the quality of medicines St. Mungo's now has on offer has actually _increased_. 

This has gone so much better than anyone _ever_ anticipated, and it's considered probable that both Minerva and Severus are likely to receive (' _another_ ') Order of Merlin for their humanitarian efforts. Although many still have some problems reconciling Severus with the term "humanitarian," he himself not least among them, _no one_ disputes the importance of this project.

A logical side effect has naturally been a phenomenal improvement in Potions' marks among the program's participants. Those students now seem to be helping others from their house who don't spend their vacations at the castle, and _all_ of Slytherin has shown an incredible improvement in the course. The added bonus being that many of those participating are the children receiving financial assistance from those they are now able to tutor. In this way, every _one_ feels they are able to contributing to the success of the whole. Additionally, as less time is required to prepare for their Potions course, and this leaves them with more time to devote to their other courses, and all their marks have universally improved.

Interestingly, this hasn't escaped the notice of the other houses, most notably the Ravenclaws, who feel their academic superiority is being challenged. As a result, the project is now beginning to attract interest from other students, who may yet be won for extracurricular brewing during the regular school year as the program expands. The current plan is to ensure the reins remain in Slytherin hands, but guarantee that others will be welcome, further shifting what people will come to associate with the name. 

Severus expects some Ravenclaw participation by next year at the latest. The Hufflepuffs should follow no more than a year after that once inter-house cooperation has been established by the Ravenclaws and the philanthropic benefits have been more clearly documented. He has no idea if the Gryffindors will _ever_ participate, but with the possible exception of Professor Granger, he's not sure he'd want them brewing for him anyway. After more thought, he would amend that to include the Weasley twins, although they were frequently more bother than they would be worth. _Would have been_ worth. ' _Poor Fred_.'

Hermione reaches the staff table, still considering the Slytherins. There are almost as many of them here now as there are from all the other houses combined. Given it's the smallest house currently, that's saying a lot. Not all who've remained _had_ to stay, some chose to remain with their friends and housemates instead of their families, nevertheless... She slides into her customary seat next to her very favorite Slytherin, and flashes him her (' _hopefully_ ') least disturbed smile. 

He looks tired, but satisfied. It's not an _exhausted_ look, more like he's got a new project that he's really sunk his teeth into, and seems to be enjoying his progress, or perhaps the process (' _hard to say with no details_ '). The difference is all around his eyes. They aren't tight with exhaustion, pain or defeat. In fact, his eyes almost seem to be smiling. It's a _great_ look on him. Not as good as his face while laughing, but still. He's come so far since the war. 

The grin she's giving him _now_ is definitely _not_ demented. Feeling it from the inside, she decides it must be incredibly encouraging. It is, and that throws him a bit, but he'll recover. She's thought, too, about how to handle addressing him, if he insists on honorifics, and has decided until that oh so stubborn man relents and lets her call him by his first name (' _Sevvvvvvverus_ '), she'll just refer to him as "Professor," as though that _were_ his name, with her best coprophagous grin for accompaniment, too. (' _See how he likes_ that.') She considers taking bets with herself on how long it will take him to crack. She'd lose, she'll crack first, but not knowing that, she's enjoying her moment.

"Good morning, _Professor_." She emphasizes it so much that he turns to stare at her. Her face can hardly contain her grin. "Sleep well?" Now that he's facing her, she revises her assessment, "Or at _all_?" 

He's clutching his tea like it's a lifeline, so she's thinking: not much sleep then. She's noticed he favors a particularly volatile decoction he dubs "tea" that rivals the espresso she once regretted drinking, a mistake she won't repeat lightly. She finds it humorous that a Potions Master of his repute would rely on a Muggle _beverage_ to achieve that, instead of any of his multitude of concoctions, but keeps it to herself, except for the improbable widening of her grin. If she keeps this up, her cheeks will _definitely_ hurt later. (' _Worth it_.') Her mood is _magnificent_.

He may have just managed a grunt in response, and she decides she'll have to wait until he's actually managed to swallow some of that... _tea_ before she'll get anything more. She can wait.

She spends the interim sniffing inostensively ( _for a Gryffindor_ ), inhaling his faint trace of bergamot as deeply as she can. Meanwhile he doubts the efficacy of her Warming Charms if she caught cold last night in the Forbidden Forest. 

A few minutes and sips later, she can actually see the transformation taking place on his face, she resumes. "Working on anything good?"

That actually gets his attention, one eyebrow does something odd, rising briefly and then falling sharply towards his nose, and he pauses and considers an answer. "I guess technically it is." And he grins, just ever so slightly, lopsidedly as if at an inside joke. "But it's definitely challenging, which is good in itself." His voice sounds gravelly, and she wonders if he's used it since dinner last night. Thinking back to dinner, he hardly spoke once they returned to the castle, and she realizes she may have been the last person he spoke with at any length. That seems a shame. (' _He probably wouldn't think so_.') And then she almost laughs (' _Phrasing_!') because that also makes it sound like he enjoyed speaking to her. (' _Coincidental_.') Well he seemed to when he was laughing anyway. She lives in hope.

"I think you're always happiest when challenged."

He smiles a bit more noticeably ( _not that anyone_ else _was likely to recognize that fact_ ) at her use of 'always.' From _her_ , in this context, it seems _familiar_ and not inappropriately presumptuous, which doubtlessly says something about how he relates to her. "Oh, make no mistake, with time I've come to appreciate the complete _absence_ of challenges, too. That's still a welcome change. But you are correct, it is always... _nice_ to have something... demanding on which to work."

In many ways he resembles his Slytherins in that. The importance of a problem to successfully solve shouldn't be underestimated. But unlike many of his students, he doesn't want the acclaim. He seems to _prefer_ working entirely behind the scenes, outside of the public eye. Initially she had thought that a carryover from his days as a spy, but since the war, he's still been no more eager for the spotlight. He does things he considers necessary or desires to pursue, but he isn't driven by a longing for glory that sadly seems to typify the actions of so many of _her_ housemates, or even some of _his_.

"It suits you... _Professor_." And again with the impudent grin. He's still looking at her oddly, and she is _sure_ he'll crack. 

She is considering her own breakfast now, and realizes having not intervened, she has the same "special order" café au lait with foamed milk that she usually gets, and she feels guilty about causing the skeleton elf staff extra work. Severus doesn't miss her somewhat crestfallen expression as she regards her mug, and just barely stifles a chuckle. He can see _exactly_ what is going through her mind, even without Legilimency, and it took less time than he expected. He smirks instead. Minerva's black pudding isn't long for this world. He can't resist a glance in the direction of the Headmistress' plate, and smirks some more. 

Close by, Hermione becomes vaguely aware that the Hufflepuffs seem to be causing the Gryffindors a good deal of amusement, but not in a particularly inclusive fashion. The rather mild mannered 'Puffs seem less than pleased, growing increasingly irritated at the Gryffindors' reactions, and before long, a surprisingly lively (' _particularly in light of the hour_ ') food fight erupts between their tables. Of course it's a good deal messier and more frenetic than the Muggle equivalent, and when broccoli begins to actually sprout from a sixth year Gryffindor's ears, Minerva moves in to stop the squabble, leaving with a few likely suspects firmly in tow for her office and dispatching the vegetized Gryffindor to Poppy.

Hermione barely had time to _consider_ taking action, before the Headmistress had it all sorted. A glance to her left reveals a completely relaxed Severus, he hasn't even blinked, fully assured there would be no need for him to act. Minerva's got this.

Argus Filch, still a school fixture, is sent for and begins attacking the residual problems. The animated scones marching across the floor and the rather gelatinous mass of what must have once been pumpkin juice stuck to the wall making his job no easier. Nevertheless, he had things rather well in hand, years of experience making this just another day in the mines, until Peeves appeared on the scene and unceremoniously upended a bucket of mop water over the poor man's head. 

At this, Severus _does_ shift, leaning first close to Hermione's ear and in a voice pitched only for her, in a play on their game from yesterday, says, "The clean up effort was truly a bit of a damp squib." And then in a fluid movement stands to assist the poor caretaker, simultaneously squelching the beginnings of tittering laughter that were starting to emanate from the students with only a single look.

It doesn't help in the least that Filch is still so antagonistic and unpopular with the children, but it _was_ an amusing picture to behold: the bedraggled, curmudgeonly, sopping old man, stood sputtering in a puddle. Hermione shocked and far too amused at Severus' pun, pleased to see he is continuing their little word game, has to stifle her own laughter. She wouldn't want Mr. Filch ( _or the students for that matter_ ) to think she was laughing at _him_. She quickly gets to her feet to follow Severus and lend her assistance. 

Helga Macavoy, Pomona Sprout's successor as Head of House in Hufflepuff, sets off after Peeves. Hermione almost feels sorry for the poltergeist for a moment faced with the resolute witch on his transparent heels. Helga is the aunt of Heidi Macavoy, a Hufflepuff chaser Hermione went to school with. After a long and successful career as a professional Quidditch player and later coach, Helga had replaced Madam Hooch at Hogwarts as the flying instructor, Quidditch coach and referee two years ago, becoming the Hufflepuff Head this year. Hermione finds Helga combines some of the best characteristics of both women, but considers her quite the departure from Pomona, and can't help wondering if the Hufflepuffs' refusal to simply accept the Gryffindors' baiting might not be due to her more assertive influence. 

Sensing that Mr. Filch would probably not appreciate it if she attended to his... state, she leaves him to Severus and begins tackling the mess, Peeves long since vanished with Helga in hot pursuit. Severus makes quick work of drying the man with a charm and restoring him to order, all somehow without offending him in the process. Hermione can't help admiring how Severus deals with the man. She recognizes something in his approach that mirrors the behavior she's seen among his house members when they assist one another; very little fuss is made of it and both parties attempt to draw a minimum of attention to it. Severus takes the man's arm and escorts him gently from the Hall, calling over his shoulder to Hermione in parting that he will speak to Minerva about Peeves.

Filch seems to relax noticeably at hearing it as they leave. Hermione expects Severus will summon the Baron to send the irritating poltergeist packing. 

She finishes tidying the rest of the mess, and recollects she wished to speak to Minerva about the house elves and makes her way to the Headmistress' office. Once she arrives, the gargoyle at the door, recently charmed to coordinate receptionist duties, informs her that the Headmistress is in conference with another Professor and shall be unavailable for a while yet at least. He asks if she can return later, and Hermione leaves a request with him that she be contacted when Minerva is free and returns to her chambers to think some more.

-~HG/SS~-

First, she decides, she'll ask Minerva to explain to her better how the house elves accomplish their work. Hermione has matured greatly since the days of S.P.E.W., and no longer wishes to blindly inflict her sense of morals and ethics onto others without a care for their desires, needs or cultures. She has come to appreciate that, although she disagrees vehemently with their indentured servitude, that it is not _her_ right to tell them they cannot continue in that vein should they so wish. That's been very hard for her to accept.

She trusts Minerva to make her understand their situation. There is always a bit of residual risk that Severus had just been having her on. He's become a good deal more mischievous since the war ended and the threat of Azkaban was banished. She doesn't consider it likely in this instance, but belts and braces. 

Then she'll need to determine what the needs of the school are, because obviously the ability to properly run the school takes precedent over her sensibilities. But perhaps Minerva would be open for an experimental run during the holidays, particularly as the elf staff is reduced for the moment. Hermione sets about making a list of possible suggestions.

Having accomplished as much as she can along those lines without input and feedback from Minerva, Hermione's thoughts return to the Queen of the Fae, Severus, and the events of the previous evening.

She's thought a lot about what Mab had told her, her talk with Severus, and how it made her feel. Just opening up to one person, and she doesn't mean to minimize the difference he _himself_ made, but still, just speaking to _one_ person has made an incredible difference in how she feels. For one thing, she feels somehow less frustrated, which is ridiculous, because nothing has actually _changed_. Her parents' situation is just as hopeless as it was yesterday at this time. The Ministry is every bit the threat they were ( _or weren't, depending on how seriously she wishes to take their oblique warnings_ ) yesterday or even last year. Maybe it was the laughter, maybe it was just connecting with another human being. Either way, the result feels amazing.

So much so, that she gives serious thought to contacting Harry, and maybe even Ronald. It's a little tricky this close to the Holidays; she doesn't want it to seem like she's angling for an invitation. Had one been intended for her, she knows she'd have received it long before now. In any of those owls she _hasn't_ received from either of them, really. Since before term began, actually, as she pauses to consider again that neither of them even bothered to congratulate her on achieving her Arithmancy Mastery, or for starting in her position as Professor here. And that freezes her in her tracks. 

What _rubbish_ friends she has. 

So what should she do? Should she really write to them? What, just to tell them they're complete pants at the "friends thing"?

Severus had told her something yesterday that no one has ever said to her before. Three little words, and they're magnificent really. He told her: _she deserved better_. That simple, that elegant. And he's certainly not an effusive man or given to insincere praise. (' _I don't think he's given to praise at_ all, _sincere or not, actually_.')

It resonates with her strangely. Over the past couple of years, there has been a steady shift to her thinking from "what did I do to deserve this?" slowly, _very_ slowly, towards a hesitant "I _don't_ deserve this." The natural and healthy extension of that is _so_ simple, she can't believe she's never gotten here on her own: I deserve _better_. 

And with that she resolves not to look for friendship and fulfilment from people who _truly_ don't seem to value her.

That makes her think some more, because she is quite certain that both Ronald and Harry _do_ value, at least in part, what she can contribute... When they need it, she amends. They don't seem to value it much when there's no pressing need for her skills. (' _No_ , then _I am subject to_ ridicule.') And when it's needed, when _she's_ needed, well, they appear confident that her support is theirs for the asking. Which of course it is and always has been, and now she's beginning to feel really down again...

But that's not how she wants to feel, or where she started out this morning, so she determines to think back to those positive thoughts. She _doesn't_ deserve this, and she doesn't have to settle for it, and she most certainly will not pursue that kind of high-handed treatment. And again it's liberating. Different, but... _better_.

She adds "[I] deserve better. - Severus" to the list she made of things the faery queen told her, deciding it now represents a general list of things to think about and motivational thoughts, instead of purely a documentation of her visit with Queen Mab last night. She pins it above her desk, and she can't help noticing that she smiles a little every time she glances at it.

Feeling just a bit self conscious about having that quote up there, and his name listed right after the "colleague (I am 'close to') that I should 'consider'" line, she wouldn't want anyone to see it and think she had... what? Designs on the unsuspecting gentleman? She casts a Notice-Me-Not Spell that should keep it for her eyes only.

She begins to make another list of things she'd like to do and change. First, obviously, when Minerva's available, she'll speak to her about the house elf situation. Minerva has always been very patient and supportive of Hermione's... she's not really sure if she should call them "flights of fancy." Pipe dreams? Wild ideas? _Notions_. ('That _sounds more like it_.')

Then she'd like to pursue the work on a Charms mastery if Potions isn't a option. And then she should probably speak to Severus to make sure it really _isn't_ an option (' _but he's never had an apprentice_...'), although she isn't sure it's worth rocking the boat to have that talk. But she _could_ ask him if he'd be willing to at least work with her on brewing with the practical application of Charms. She has no idea how that suggestion will be received. ( _That's not true; she expects it will go over poorly_.)

And then she realizes that all of her plans have once again focused on things she wishes to do or accomplish, but not on people, friendships or relationships. She sets about couching her goals in terms of those things when her Floo flares to life with a message that Minerva is now available, and grabbing her prolific house elf notes, she makes her way to the Headmistress' rooms.

-~HG/SS~-

The talk with the Headmistress is indeed fruitful. Hermione leaves with a much better understanding of how the elves' magic works, and her mentor was willing to try an experiment during the break. The menus shall be reduced to fewer items, reflecting the most common food and beverage orders, with the exception of Christmas, as that was a measure too far.

Realistically, Minerva expects that at the end of the trial period, when Hermione speaks to the elves, she'll find that they haven't found the changes all that beneficial. Despite having explained as best she could how the elves' magic differs to their own, her feeling is Hermione understands the words, but not the _message_. Meanwhile, Minerva anticipates that the residents will be _very_ vocal about their disapproval, and then things will return to normal, but she firmly believes that it is advantageous to reexamine the status quo from time to time. She also thinks it's important to encourage bright young minds like Hermione's to think for themselves and question the way things are done. It shouldn't simply be taken for granted, or there will be no progress.

With a sigh, Minerva resigns herself to a few weeks without black pudding. Or tattie scones! Bother. Well, 'tisn't pleasant, but shan't kill her. Most likely. She smirks slightly thinking Hermione shall miss her morning coffee at least as much, and resolves to muddle through in good company.

Hermione doesn't once mention her parents or their plight. She also doesn't say anything about Severus' interest. Minerva isn't sure if Hermione even knows he is investigating their situation, and decides it's best to say nothing either way and avoid prodding the wound or getting the young woman's hopes up, perhaps unrealistically.

-~HG/SS~-

The two women head to lunch, arriving a bit late, or just in time, depending on how one looks at things.

As they enter the Great Hall, all hell is breaking loose. For the second time today, the Gryffindors are locked in battle with another house, this time the Ravenclaws. Several of the same individuals Minerva had already had to pull aside this morning to speak with about their behavior are at it once again, in fact _all_ sixth and seventh years seem to be heading the charge, leading by poor example and dragging their younger housemates into the fray after them. (' _Splendid_.') Both witches cringe to see their house behaving in such a fashion. 

Severus, Helga and Filius are in the thick of things, trying to bring the students harmlessly to heel, as the two Gryffindor staff members wade in. Severus, his face ominously darkened, seems to be rapidly losing his patience, his mood demonstratively worsened since this morning, and Hermione suspects a Levicorpus is only moments away. 

Sure enough, three of the worst of the lot suddenly find themselves suspended upside down over the fight. Minerva cocks an eyebrow at him, but the determination and utter disgust on his face don't invite discussion. In fact, he is the one to put an end to all of this with an _Expelliarmus_! the like of which no one here has ever seen before. The spell is cast so loudly that his voice reverberates through the Hall, and before the echo fades his raised hand clutches _every single wand_ from two tables. 

They're completely _gobsmacked_.

If asked, Severus would explain that it makes a huge difference that he is wielding it against mere students, and that not a _one_ of them had bothered to cast a Protego worth a damn. And _then_ he'd rant to himself about the continuing deficiencies of the DADA program. But no one asks. In fact, the room grows deathly silent and everyone simply goggles. Except a few Slytherins who can't help smirking that is.

He cuts quite the figure, tall, lithe and domineering in his black cloak still swirling about him with the force of his magic. One arm raised with a fistful of wands, the other extended pointing his own at the group. More than one person finds their breath catching at the sight. He of course doesn't know that, and wouldn't believe it if told.

"Enough!" he cries, and indeed it is. No one moves. Admittedly wandless magic from the louts too lazy or incompetent to shield seems unlikely, but regardless, the effect is impressive.

Minerva steps up, the very _picture_ of collected ire, "Thank you, Severus. Well managed," with a nod, choosing to ignore the issue of the suspended students perhaps indefinitely in light of the chaos. She extends both hands elegantly towards him, and he calmly places the collection of wands into them. Turning to her students with barely controlled fury she _demands_ an explanation. 

At first no one dares to speak given her obvious anger, then too many rush to justify... this, but there can be no justification. And with positively scathing disappointment, she informs them they'll be serving detention with Filch come January. For _all_ of January. Longer, if there is even a _hint_ of further trouble. Every single one takes her at her word, and they slink from the room.

Looking about ( _once again today_ ) at the damage, and overcome by a feeling of déjà vu, Hermione is shocked by how much worse it is than the kerfuffle from this morning. Inexplicably, one of the giant Christmas trees is hanging upside down over the Ravenclaw table. Apparently, as Helga is quick to explain, only an incredibly well timed and fortunate save on Severus' part managed to deflect the Christmas missile upwards, only barely keeping the students at the Ravenclaw table safe from imminent harm. As she says this, a few of the ornaments seem to have come loose, never intended to be rotated 180 degrees, and a few baubles fall down towards the table. Hardly making a move and still imposing as sin, Severus wandlessly atomizes them and they vanish into thin air.

"Well, mostly safe," Helga amends. "All in all, quite a morning. Six impossible things by lunch, I suppose. This, um, isn't typical behavior for the season or something is it? Only I wasn't here for the holidays the last two years, and... Well one does wonder where one has landed." 

Hermione hastens to assure her colleague that this is quite unusual, should that prove any consolation? She doesn't sound at all sure that it is though.

Minerva is speaking with the Ravenclaws, there are a few injured students she sends on to Poppy, including one unfortunate Hufflepuff who seems to have gotten caught in the crossfire. No one seems willing to explain what preceded this latest display. Bizarrely, the greater portion of a pack of the Wizards of the World quartet set ( _the latest version from the look of it_ ) seems to have become imbedded in the surface of the Gryffindor table, the angle suggesting they were used as projectiles, and the depth to which they've sunken and resistance to removal that they would have been quite dangerous in flight. It's a disturbing thought.

Working with the help of the remaining students, the five staff members set about righting the Great Hall. Yet again. The Slytherins seem oddly cooperative, and slightly smug, being the only house not to engage in such disgraceful behavior today. ( _Another disturbing thought_.) Hermione is becoming a bit cynical, and can't help thinking, ' _but the day is still long_.' She sighs.

Hermione casts an Ascendio, which propels her towards the ceiling, immediately followed by Filius' Mobilicorpus, which keeps her suspended there, and from this unusual perch she tries to detach the tree from the charmed ceiling. Several unproductive minutes later she is forced to admit momentary defeat. No one seems to have an explanation for the Sticking charm attaching it to the ceiling. Once Minerva returns to interrogate the Gryffindors, she determines a precocious sixth year devised the modified charm, and is pleased to be able to give her poor house back at least _some_ points for this creative bit of spell work after their behavioral missteps today.

Unfortunately, the wee lassie doesn't seem to have come up with anything to _undo_ it, which shall undoubtably cause Argus to have conniptions. He's not had a good day either. Minerva purses her lips and makes her way resolutely back to her office.

-~HG/SS~-

By dinner, Minerva has rearranged the tables forming an elongated isosceles triangle with a truncated tip pointed towards the doors of the Great Hall, which allows for students to enter the triangle and sit on its inside. Going solely by numbers of students present and the size of the tables, Hermione would expect the Slytherins to sit on the right, as one enters the room, all the other houses to sit together on the left, and the staff to sit at the base. Given those three houses have fought each other rather bitterly today, she's intrigued to see how they will in fact seat themselves.

Surprisingly, a number of the younger Slytherins take advantage of the dissension and sit with the Ravenclaws, whilst a few of _their_ upperclassmen take their seats at the Slytherin table. Effectively, all the houses seem to be using their younger house members as human buffers, placing Firsties and second years between the houses. It seems rather coldblooded, but diffuses the tension fairly well. There is still quite a deal of discussion and the Hufflepuffs seems to be taking a lot of ridicule for reasons the staff can't divine. Trelawney is not consulted.

The 'Puffs are clearly less than chuffed about the teasing, but as the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors fought more bitterly, they find themselves seated between the other two and getting ribbed from both sides.

But the new table arrangement has the advantage that no table currently finds itself under the inverted tree, so the occasional ornament that rains down does no more damage than startling those with nervous dispositions as it crashes on the floor. (' _And it'll probably be good for_ them.')

By now even Hermione has realized that part of whatever is brewing among the students somehow has to do with the dour Potions Master to her left who seems to be withdrawing increasingly right before her eyes. Aware there is a real risk that her cheery mood will grate even further on his nerves, she tries to contain her good cheer a bit for the meal, but can't help stealing glances at him.

Things are definitely far better for him, _and_ many others, now than just a few years prior. She's not sure how much of what has been enacted he has actually been aware of. Much occurred whilst he was still comatose, and most measures were explicitly kept from him so as not to defeat their purpose. Ultimately, they had all come to agree that Severus wasn't necessarily inclined to act in his best interests. 

Hermione's ongoing situation with the Ministry, the ever present latent threat of prosecution for the Obliviations, had proved to Minerva just how damaging living in uncertainty could be. It was a clear example of what the absence of a pardon could mean for someone, and Hermione wasn't in anywhere near as precarious a position as Severus or any of the Death Eater children at the school. Minerva resolved to change that where she could, first and foremost to begin to repay her debt to her colleague, but also for the sake of all the children she feared would otherwise be lost and perhaps give rise to the _next_ wizarding war in consequence.

So that first Autumn after the battle, Minerva drew a line under _everything_ and demanded everyone move on. She enacted a blanket pardon and zero tolerance policy at the school. Anyone _not_ charged by the Wizengamot and found explicitly _guilty_ was henceforth to be regarded as _innocent_. Full stop. Further, she declared zero tolerance for abuses of any kind, either decrying fellow students ( _or staff, for that matter_ ) as Death Eaters or Riddle sympathizers or whatever else occurred to them, or conversely any expression whatsoever of prejudice related to blood status. Any and all infractions were punished swiftly and without mercy. No quarter would be given. And none was ever asked.

The pejoratives and topics she embargoed were even wider reaching than originally suspected. Somewhat ironically, but on consideration perhaps not surprisingly, Ginny Weasley was the first to discover that. Influenced, no doubt, by the time spent with her brother, she made the mistake of complaining vociferously in the Gryffindor common room about the sanctuary being offered Snape at the time. In all fairness, it should be remembered that she was a student during his terror-filled reign as Headmaster, and even if he was able to shield the students and her in particular quite a bit, the fear they felt, the hate and loathing were very real and unlikely to dissipate overnight. 

Thinking she was among like-minded individuals and mistakenly believing there was a measure of privacy to be had in their rooms, Ginny was completely taken aback to find the words "greasy git" left the speaker with greasy hair and a face full of acne for a week. Minerva took a page from Hermione, inspired by her jinx on Miss Edgecombe. 

Several Gryffindors, suddenly developing an intellectual curiosity otherwise so foreign to them, or perhaps it was more of a "dare" mentality, experimented and discovered, regardless of the location of the speaker, "git" brought zits, "greasy" did a number on your hair for the day and the combination was a week's worth of embarrassment. The Gryffindor table cut a rather appalling figure that week. Likewise, "dungeon bat" caused a prolonged bat-bogey hex ( _Ginny was_ scandalized _to find_ that _"misappropriated" for punitive reeducation methods_ ), and eventually even the Gryffindors exhausted their desire to experiment further, and things came slowly to a halt.

By contrast, the younger Greengrass girl was the only Slytherin who needed to speak the word "Mudblood" and find herself covered head to toe in mud for the week before they retreated from such terminology completely. ( _She willingly swallowed potions to induce vomiting all that week, deeming it worth the cost to spare herself the public humiliation_.) Observations of the Gryffindor table were sufficient to suspect, although they couldn't be certain how far reaching the limitations _actually_ were, that it was advisable to at least be _seen_ to play nice. Some consideration was given to developing an innocuous code, but ultimately it was deemed unworthy of the risk. McGonagall could be relied upon to expand the list of unsanctioned language accordingly.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, no one felt the need to test the actual term "Death Eater," proving there may yet be hope for the youth of today. 

By the third week of the 1998-99 school year the students had adopted a much more civil tone with one another. As deeds often follow words, that halted much that would otherwise have escalated. 

House rivalries were proving harder to dispel. Ultimately the need to have large groups of children unfamiliar with one another quickly assimilate into the student body made the encouragement of "us" vs. "them" mentalities useful. Grouping by year would have abolished the help otherwise provided to the younger students by the upperclassmen. Finally, it was decided to change the seating orders and intermingle the classes more. It's helped some, but not as much as is needed, as the events of this afternoon have clearly illustrated. 

However, the absence of, say, greasy haired students would lead one to suspect that _whatever_ it was they had been arguing about concerning the Potions Master, the manner in which it was discussed had changed greatly to that of a few short years ago.

Despite the excitement from earlier in the day, dinner goes without a hitch, although it proves increasingly difficult to lure Severus from his reserve. She notices that he seems to avoid _her_ in particular, which she finds disappointing, but he seems somehow shy or hurt, not as though he finds something about her _distasteful_. She can't really explain it, it's just a feeling and hard to pin down, but she is certain her assessment is right. Smiling at him as reassuringly as she can as often as she draws his eye, she returns to her thoughts of potential presents for the man.

He looks like he could use some joy in his life, and she is determined to provide it, so help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter:**  
>  Hermione cries: fowl. She's got mail. The Ministry throws a party; our heroes stay home and mope. (Yes, I actually thought that made for a better story. Just trust me.)
> 
>  
> 
>  **A/N:**  
>  I put all the Shakespeare stuff in the comments. Look there if curious.


	10. Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione dreams up a present for Severus. Hogwarts survives its first pared-down breakfast, and tea of varying qualities is drunk with a variety of results, possibly including blushing.

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  JKR owns the lot. I own bugger all, and shan't profit in the least. Except for kudos and comments, both of which are lovely and appreciated. (*nudge nudge, wink wink*)
> 
> **Previously:**  
>  Severus and Hermione ran into each other in the Forbidden Forest and talked and laughed. Swept up in the moment, Hermione even gave the stunned Potions Master a _hug_. He survived, but only just.
> 
> Some Hufflepuffs saw the Potions Master laughing and spread the word. Rumors and plenty of chaos ensued, and sadly house points were lost. Severus became more withdrawn in response to the gossip; he's just trying to lie low.[1] Hermione naturally doesn't care for that at all.
> 
> So _now_ she's determined to get the poor man a Christmas present.
> 
>   
> 

### Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 4

-~HG/SS~-

**Hogwarts, Saturday 23rd December, Breakfast, Hermione**

Hermione wakes with a smile, having dreamt of a certain Potions Master. The feeling is pleasant, as were the dreams. Nothing to be concerned about to be sure, it's all perfectly innocent, although, _just to be sure_ , she finds herself interrogating that statement and those dreams as her conscious mind regains control. 

It helps to be certain. 

The process of questioning herself dispels the memories of her dreams until all that's left are vague impressions and a very few images. Those last images, now fading rapidly, were of him walking through a landscape of swirling malachite fields dotted with botryoidal bushes, a knot of silver snakes to his feet. The colours were gorgeous and suited him perfectly, in more ways than one, and he seemed at peace in the scene (' _but after the events of yesterday afternoon_...' _that was probably wishful thinking on her part_ ). 

She contemplates, as she readies herself for her day, if malachite can be charmed so that its natural whorls could in fact move, for it was a truly stunning effect. With a feeling of satisfaction, she's confident she has the basis for a good idea for a present for Severus.

His hair is longer these days than how he wore it while she was a student, and he ties it back regularly when brewing. She thinks an elegant silver and malachite hair fastener would look good with his coloring, in addition to reflecting his house, and the mineral, though quite attractive, certainly isn't too dear as to seem inappropriate. When she's in Hogsmeade this afternoon, she will stop by the jeweler's near the quill and parchment shop, and she has plenty of time still to research charming the stone, or perhaps she'll ask Filius for a suggestion at breakfast.

As she approaches the Great Hall, she considers that the curtailed menu, a part of her house elf meal scheme that Minerva was kind enough to sanction, should be far more evident at breakfast than it would have been at dinner last night. With the excitement of the day, she feels certain the meal changes had gone largely unnoticed anyway yesterday. Although generally not faint-hearted [2], she's a bit nervous, a touch apprehensive about the student response, and now that she thinks about it, realizes somewhat belatedly that Minerva's breakfast should be rather greatly impacted, her tastes perhaps more divergent than most. Hermione can't help appreciating how fortunate she is to work for someone who encourages such experiments.

Of course this also means this is her first breakfast without her café au lait. She sighs just thinking about it, sliding into the seat next to Severus with a ( _still_!) chipper "good morning, _Professor_ ," and an incredibly warm smile. She's reasonably convinced that she can avoid any caffeine withdrawal or attendant mood swings with potions if need arises ( _she's a witch after all_ ), but firmly doubts it will be necessary.

Severus, for his part, is staring at his morning cuppa with an expression so grim as to inspire trepidation in lesser beings, or the student body, whichever. It's far too soon for withdrawal to have set in, and surely that's a non-issue for a Potions Master anyway, but she suspects he finds the brew on offer doesn't measure up in the least to his usual... (' _caffeinated sludge_ ') _tea_. And with the realization that this is her second colleague her experiment seems to be affecting negatively, Hermione shifts a bit uncomfortably in her seat.

She helps herself to a regular coffee, but after a sip she reflexively screws up her face and pushes it from her, desperately missing her foamed milk. Severus seems to have noticed this, or maybe the timing is just coincidence, but suddenly he's smirking and his glance keeps darting at her sideways. She's happy for the interaction (' _although that might be overstating things_ '), but is pleased if it means he's not completely ignoring her anymore, as he had done at dinner the evening before. Still glowering occasionally at his ersatz tea, mostly between sips, Severus settles in with the cryptic crossword from the Prophet, his disgruntlement made audible as he effectively etches answers into the paper. 

Minerva, seated in the middle of their table to Hermione's right, leans forward and attracts his attention, reminding him that she and Filius will be at the Ministry's Yule Ball this evening, and that Severus as Deputy Headmaster will be in charge. Helga having not been part of the battle of Hogwarts, and because they're short staffed, won't be attending the affair either. (' _She doesn't seem disappointed in the least_.') Severus hadn't forgotten, as much as he'd probably like to, the mere mention of the ball seeming to worsen his mood (' _judging by the depth his quill now sinks into the paper_ '). Or perhaps, Hermione can't help worrying, it's the idea of sharing the meal with only Helga as a buffer between them, as Sybill per usual hasn't put in an appearance since the term break began (' _not that she was around much before that_ '), and Poppy's been busy elsewhere. 

There's still a great deal of unusual commotion amongst the students, and she isn't sure if that's a carryover from whatever was going on yesterday, a result of the limited breakfast selection (' _please, no_ '), or something new altogether (' _same old, same old_ '). Minerva seems to have noticed this as well, and stands to make an announcement about the house elf initiative and the changes that it will mean, at least in the short term. Not once does she mention this is Hermione's idea (' _fault_ '). Severus knowing _he's_ ultimately to blame for this smirks again, but Hermione thinks it's because he knows Minerva has covered for her. Instead of pointing fingers (' _or wands_ '), Minerva introduces the new menus, which flutter down at each place setting, and explains that it's to do with how the elves' magic works, and offers extra house points to any students willing to write several inches, increasing by year of study, on why that should be the case. 

That was brilliant, really, given Hermione _still_ doesn't fully understand the nuances, and Minerva considered once or twice giving the young Professor the same assignment, but couldn't think how to politely suggest it. Instead, she plans on soliciting Hermione's assistance in marking the parchments, and hopes they will provide sufficient information and viewpoints to change her opinion. And with a bit of luck, this will stave off any S.P.E.W.-like movements on the students' parts in the near future.

Several industrious Ravenclaws, eager to make up for points lost in yesterday's fracas with the Gryffindors, start writing owls to their housemates currently home for the holidays to convince them to capitalize on this opportunity. The Slytherins seem satisfied that this should be easy, the lot of them having grown up with elves in their households, and it is quickly decided that _all_ shall complete the, theoretically voluntary, assignment, including those still lounging about none the wiser in their beds. They are well aware that even if _every_ Slytherin earns those points, due to their diminished numbers, there are still fewer points to be gained than if only _some_ of the Ravenclaws participate. This side of never, not one of them would point that out to the faculty. The assumption on easily half their parts is that this is a deliberate choice anyway.

By contrast, the Hufflepuffs show mixed reactions, most are pleased at this chance to win points, but nevertheless understanding of their housemates who just want to enjoy the holidays. The Gryffindors simply groan as one, having lost the most points yesterday and therefore most keenly feeling the _need_ to complete the challenge, but also being the least studious and amongst the least likely to have previous experience with the elves from home. Hermione admires, not for the first time, how Minerva is able to encourage scholastic activity on the students' part outside of the usual classroom setting. ( _Overall OWL and NEWT results are noticeably improved since she took over the reins_ , ' _although the benefits of the absence of a war shouldn't be underestimated_.')

Hermione leans back in her seat, watching the various responses so characteristic of the houses. Not for the first time, she wonders how she was sorted into Gryffindor, as did most of her colleagues over the years. Meanwhile, knowing what she's seeking, she is able to catch the faint hint of bergamot on Severus. It's unobtrusive, but delicious. Her eyes flutter shut, and she once again finds herself trying to inhale it as deeply as possible without attracting attention. This only succeeds in reinforcing his opinion that she has the sniffles, and that her Warming Charms are rubbish. His impression is naturally skewed, as she only does this in his presence, but he in turn can only observe her _when_ he's present. Inspired by the scent, she consults the new menu and asks for a cup of tea, Earl Grey. Hot. 

Clutching the mug in both hands as she draws it closer for a sip, she inhales deeply, happily, and completely inconspicuously ( _it's her own tea for goodness sake_ ) because this is the scent she wanted... Except she suddenly realizes that it actually _isn't_. Something is missing, and with a slightly uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, suspiciously akin to the beginnings of apprehension, she consults the menu again before ordering a second, different cup of tea, a Lady Earl Grey. 

It's only a moment or two later that she confirms _this_ is exactly the scent she was after. And pausing to consider its citrusy bergamot notes realizes with some embarrassment that it's the scent of her hair after she had held Severus the other night, the scent that accompanied her on Yule into the best night's sleep she's had in ages. The _blend_ of their scents. 

Swallowing hard and reddening _deeply_ , she can't help wondering if she needs to reevaluate her assessment of last night's dreams.

She feels vaguely guilty and exposed as she drinks her tea, unsure if she should enjoy it, or who will notice it, and it's silly, really, for who would think anything of it? It's just a cup of tea, yet it feels like a guilty pleasure and something furtive and she finds, once she's comfortable that she's escaped discovery, that she's _enjoying_ that secret, and smiles into her mug once more. The apples of her cheeks clearly visible above the rim of her mug and her delicate hands grasping it, that's not nearly as effective a cover as she believes.

Breakfast continues without incident. Hermione's liquid secret goes largely unnoted, or at least unappreciated for what it is, the students seem to have learned their lessons from the events of yesterday, and all is calm. By the end of the meal, she has a new beverage of choice. 

Eager for Severus not to overhear any discussion of charms for mineral surfaces, partly because she doesn't want to give him any hints, but also because she doesn't want him to retroactively deduce that she's only _now_ planning his present, she waits until Filius has completed his meal and stands to leave before leaping to join him to ask her questions. By the time they exit the Hall, they are already deep in whispered discussion on the matter, an exercise he finds quite intriguing. Filius, encouraging as usual, does indeed have a tome he's pleased to lend her that should provide some helpful answers, and so she accompanies him to his chambers to retrieve it. 

Having left breakfast a bit earlier than usual, Hermione misses an owl that swoops in searching for her, before heading off again to try its luck finding her elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter:**  
>  The owl catches up to Hermione, she throws a wobbly, lunch is eaten, shopping happens, and someone tries their hand at a spot of B&E. Forsooth!
> 
> **WARNING:**  
>  Potter bashing shall occur, and I think the only Weasley left unscathed-ish is Arthur. That could get ugly. Who'm I kidding, I hate dissension. 
> 
> **Quotes and such:**  
>  **[1] "lie low"** Although there are many variants of this phrase to be found dating back to the 13th century, Shakespeare used it in its present form in "Much Ado About Nothing," Act V, Scene 1, Antonio: If he could right himself with quarreling, Some of us would lie low.
> 
> **[2] "faint-hearted"** This is another one of those phrases Shakespeare gets credited with, perhaps unjustly. The absolutely marvelous http://www.phrases.org.uk found a much older instance of the phrase in print in the first English-Latin dictionary "The Promptorium Parvulorum," circa 1440: "Feynt hertyd, vecors." 
> 
> But the modern usage is credited to Shakespeare and occurs in the following works:
> 
> "Henry VI," Part I, Act I, Scene 3, Duke of Gloucester:  
> Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me? 
> 
> "Henry VI," Part III, Act I, Scene 1, Earl of Westmoreland: Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,  
> In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.
> 
> And "Titus Andronicus," but I'm not quoting that bit. (By and large I prefer to pretend it was never written. That's working rather well for me.)


	11. Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The owl catches up to Hermione, she throws a wobbly, vitriol is penned, and Hermione finds out something that shakes her greatly. 
> 
> It's not all bad.

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  JKR owns the lot. I own bugger all, and shan't profit in the least. Except for kudos and comments, both of which are appreciated. Have at it! 
> 
> **Previously:**  
>  Severus and Hermione ran into each other in the Forbidden Forest and returned to the castle together. They talked and laughed, and Hermione, swept up in the moment, even gave the stunned Potions Master a _hug_. He survived, only just.
> 
> She told him about her parents, still **obliviated** with no memory of her, and he guessed at her problems with the Ministry. He decided to dig a bit deeper. 
> 
> **Ron** enjoyed his fame, Hermione did not. They split amicably, but the nit neglected to tell everyone that, so a lot of people aren't too keen on her. Sure, they're mostly in his family, but that's plenty of people right there for you. 
> 
> **Harry** keeps trying to get Hermione to see where the Ministry is coming from respective her parents. She thinks he's taken one hex too many. Or too few, depending. 
> 
> Both of them neglected to celebrate Hermione's Mastery completion or her new job as the Hogwarts Arithmancy Professor, she wasn't best pleased, and unsurprisingly **they haven't owled since.**
> 
>   
> 

### Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 5

-~HG/SS~-

**Hogwarts, Saturday 23rd December, Morning, Hermione**

With Filius's tome cracked open on her desk before her, Hermione happily digs in for a morning of research prior to her shopping trip this afternoon. She's in her element, and should be cheerier, but is beginning to feel a slight drag from the lack of her usual morning coffee, a fact she finds both surprising and disturbing. Hermione accios an Invigoration Draught which she quaffs (' _as one sensibly_ should _under such circumstances_ ') before returning to her reading. It's not long before she feels the effects and once again loses herself in research. 

Which is precisely how she is occupied when she is startled by a frenetic tapping at her window. She's even more surprised when she realizes it's Pigwidgeon. Her first thought, although she can hardly believe it, is that Ron is reaching out to her for the holidays, and she feels somewhat relieved and almost a bit giddy for it. They may no longer be close, but the only significant relationship she has ever had was with him, and it hurts somehow to have lost touch. She can't help feeling a sense of failure, of something important lost. And of course it's telling that she misses the abstract concept more than the concrete form, or would be were she listening.

And here once again, the situation is not improved by her inability to meet new people. Or at least people she considers intriguing, and preferably not certifiable. (' _Although sectioning is more of a Muggle concern, really. In the wizarding world, you are far more likely to be harangued by masked followers than treated_.') She notes sanity seems to have become a "nice to have" and no longer a "must," at least when she's being quippy, so rarely is her "intriguing" criterion met, and sighs.

So it's with a definite degree of excitement that she takes the parchment from Pig's leg, eager to see what Ron has to say. Maybe they'll even invite her round for Christmas dinner. (' _I couldn't stay_ longer _than that, as I'm Neville's replacement, but I'm positive the school could spare me for a_ meal, _couldn't they_?' Minerva and Filius were free to go to the ball after all.) Maybe Molly had finally come around. Maybe Ron finally grew a... backbone and stood up to her. ( _She acknowledges that she is definitely still angry there_. ' _Hurt and angry_.')

And the more her thoughts race, which they do because Hermione is nothing if not a fast thinker, as to what Ron or the Weasleys could want, the greater her _disappointment_ when she discovers that the owl is from Harry. That it _isn't_ an invitation of any kind. That it contains _no greetings_ from _anyone_ , _Harry included_ for Circe's sake. That it illustrates, _perfectly_ , everything that is _wrong_ about her relationships with _all_ of the damned lot. And right this moment, perhaps just a bit unreasonably, she wishes she'd never met _any_ of them.

> Hey 'Mione,  
>  Arthur got an owl from Snape yesterday, and we're not sure you know what he's doing, or if it's in your best interests, so I guess this is a "heads up" or something.  
>  Anyway, he contacted Arthur about the spells he (Arthur, not Snape) tried to get your parents' memories back, looking for more details?  
>  I don't know if you even want Snape poking around in that, or if it's wise for Arthur to answer him.  
>  I guess just let us know what you want us to do.  
>  Cheers,  
>  Harry

And she's stunned. And _furious_. And confused. And so over _all_ of them. Except she's not, now is she? And therein lies the rub.

But beneath all of that ('Anger and hurt. I got it in one. Or two.') is a nascent thought - _someone_ is actually trying to figure out what can be done for her parents. Not "someone," _Severus_. And she can feel her breath catch and grow ragged, and the blood rush to her ears for an almost dizzying moment, and she knows she should take a closer look at that response later, because that's _quite_ a physical response indeed. She is woman enough and aware enough to admit it: the thought was _literally_ breath taking. (' _Goodness_.') 

Indeed.

And these _idiots_ are _obstructing_ him. That was their first, _best_ plan. ' _By_ no means _should we endeavor to be_ helpful...' ' _No, no! Never_ that!' ' _However can we_ thwart _him_?' What complete and utter _prats_! Her feelings on snitches are, of course, well established, which is precisely what Harry's done. And granted, maybe they were wisely being cautious, but this is the first time anyone has tried to _do_ something to solve this problem in _years_ now, and these planks aren't certain it's " _wise_ "?! What _muppets_! For the love of Merlin, what would it take?!?

She shivers. She shakes. She's silently seething, fighting back the tears, battling for her increasingly slipping control. She reaches for something, anything, to throw, to hurl at the wall, to create a _noise_ and make a _mess_ that reflects her inner turmoil, and then, completely true to her nature, she suddenly realizes she hasn't rewarded poor Pig for delivering this utter shite (' _but it's not his fault, now is it_?'), and she reaches for an owl treat instead. Pig takes it from her trembling hand with an excited flapping of wings, does a few flashy victory laps of the room before settling again, presumably tasked with getting a response. 

She's livid; there's no way that won't show in her answer...

> Dear Harry,
> 
> So _good_ to hear from you! I'm just _ducky_ , thanks _so_ much for asking. (' _Not that he_ had.') I sincerely hope _you_ are ever so well, too. Instructing is _quite_ different to the other side of the classroom, kind of you to ask (' _Ha_!'), but little else here has changed. I _do_ hope the Aurors are treating you properly. (' _Do I_ ever.')
> 
> I really haven't the words to convey _just_ how much I appreciate your caution (' _so very,_ very _much indeed_ '), and of course _Arthur's_. "Constant vigilance!" How terribly clever of him to write _you_ to ask how to handle this, especially given all the support you've provided me on the matter. _Clearly_ the wisest move.
> 
> As I _think_ you can perhaps imagine, I am _very_ eager to see my parents' memories returned. Given that bugger all has been done to make that happen in the past couple of, oh my, it's actually been _years_ now, hasn't it? Well, I find myself _incredibly_ relieved that _Professor_ Snape has taken an interest in my insignificant, little problem. Doubly so, as he is a wizard of no little skill, as you well know. 
> 
> So, yes, yes it would in fact be rather _helpful_ if people would get a wriggle on and provide him with any and all information he deems useful, as opposed to trying to find reasons _not_ to do so. If that isn't asking _too_ much? It's not like he requested anyone's _collaboration_ , which I suspect is unlikely given the oh so conspicuous lack of success the rest of us have ever had in the matter.
> 
> Of course I realize there's no guarantee _he'll_ be successful, naturally there can't be, but I remain confident that the probability of success is _immeasurably_ higher when contrasted with the _failure **guaranteed**_ by the course of inaction we've been pursuing of late. Don't you agree? *****
> 
> Please _do_ give my regards to everyone who said "Hi," the dears (' _so: no one_ '), and of course I wish you the very happiest of holidays,
> 
> Hermione
> 
>   
> 
> 
> ***** Should you be uncertain, as a qualified Arithmancer, since this past August in fact, I'd be happy to provide a reliable proof of that assertion, but it essentially boils down to division by nil. Undefined, by definition.

She looks at it, not entirely satisfied, and honestly unsure why she hasn't just written "Bugger Off" instead, because it would be shorter and more to the point, not that that's a particular concern. She considers that the sarcasm might be lost on Harry, but then gives him the benefit of the doubt that even _he_ can't be that thick (' _probably_ ') and then wonders if this isn't a classic example of cutting off one's nose to spite one's face. And _then_ she chuckles at the unbidden thought that that would leave her looking rather a lot like Voldemort. (' _Only with bushy hair and locks_...') But at least it's enough to get her to smile, if wryly. She decides to eliminate the risk of the malignant bottleneck and send Arthur an owl too, directly.

Except it takes her quite a while to calm down sufficiently to write something to Arthur more useful than counterproductive. 

With the way she's feeling, she knows she's a wreck, she'd gladly take a calming draught had she not just consumed a stimulant. (' _There are limits. As Hermione approaches_...') Nothing for it, she'll have to muddle through. (' _Chin up_.') Crooks winds through her legs, butting her hand affectionately as she reaches down to pet him automatically, in a not unsuccessful attempt to bolster her spirits. She takes her seat at her desk, casts a fond glance at the list she had made of Mab's points, and with the beginnings of a smile and a soft sigh allows her eyes to rest on that final statement from Severus. (' _I deserve better_.') So steeled, she begins to write.

> Saturday the 23rd,  
>  Hogwarts
> 
> Arthur,
> 
> Harry informs me that you have received an owl yesterday from Professor Snape requesting information on the methods employed in the attempts to regain my parents' memories, but are unsure how to proceed.
> 
> Please be assured, I would _greatly_ appreciate _any_ assistance you can provide the Professor, just as I am _exceedingly_ grateful that he is looking into this matter for me. It's been _years_ since anyone else has bothered to examine this, and perhaps you can relate to how important it would be to me to regain the _only family_ that I have. 
> 
> Particularly during the holidays, it's hard not to feel that loss so keenly. It would be wonderful, indescribably so, to once again be able to celebrate with those who love me instead of all by myself.
> 
> Knowing that they remain lost to me perhaps only because I haven't exhausted all avenues of attack is an exceptionally bitter pill. Wouldn't you try to do the same for those you love?
> 
> If you have any questions, _please_ feel free to contact me _directly_. Quite frankly, I'm afraid Harry hasn't been very supportive of my goals in this regard, which makes him a rather unfortunate choice as a go between.
> 
> Thanks in advance for _any_ help you can provide.
> 
> Happy Christmas,
> 
> Hermione

She knows the use of "bothered" is inflammatory. It's pure polemic. And the guff about celebrating the holidays all by herself is possibly a touch too transparent an attempt to pull at his heartstrings, but true nevertheless. She very much hopes it doesn't read more as a desperate plea for an invitation, but the truth of the situation outweighs _that_ concern of hers quickly from her perspective, even if it won't entirely from his. For the most part, it manages to be honest and not nearly as mean as she's currently feeling, so she considers it good enough. It will do.

But on reflection, she decides she won't send Harry's response just yet. She'll give herself a bit to reconsider it. "Blah blah in haste, repent at leisure..."

Exceedingly eager for a distraction and putting off the inevitable, she wonders a moment at the quotation. (' _Well, it's an aphorism, really_.') "Marry in haste..." which is less suited in the absence of, well, suitors. Was it Shakespeare, too? Thinking some more, she realizes that was arse backwards (' _wherever else should an arse be_?' A decidedly evil grin puts in an appearance as she answers her rhetorical question, ' _Grimmauld Place_? _The Burrow_?'), "Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure." So: completely wrong.

And now it's really giving her no rest, and grabbing her "Bartlett's Familiar Quotations," she digs until she finds it. There. William Congreve. "Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: Married in haste, we may repent at leisure." She likes that better, but then they both depend on their context, now don't they? And Congreve's quote may be correct, yet it's still no better suited really. _Fine_. Damn the quotations. 

"Act in haste, repent at leisure." (' _Sorted_.') 

All of which is lovely and serves nicely to kill some time to come to her senses, but, no, still no sign _at all_ of her senses returning, and the lunch hour is rapidly approaching. 

With her letter to Arthur in hand, she grabs her winter cloak and makes her way to the owlery on the roof. Mindful of the ice on the treacherous stairs, and wondering why they aren't charmed to prevent that, she transfigures her shoes to grow spikes.

Generally a fairly considerate person, she didn't mention Fred by name in her letter, for example, or even Harry's parents in his ( _which took quite an effort, as she was clearly fuming_ ), Hermione is already thinking about which of the young owls she should use to send the parchment to Arthur, to decrease the chances of Molly recognizing it as coming from Hogwarts. (' _None of the tawnies then_.') _That's_ the kind of person she usually is. She is considerate of other people and (' _frequently_ ') puts thought into how she can _improve_ their situations, or at least not make them _worse_. 

That makes the bit of vitriol she's penned (' _Quilled_?') for Harry all the more unusual. It's a complete departure from character and speaks to just how much she is hurting. That she never once considered sending a Howler, however, is typical of her fundamental good nature.

On the other hand, she's vaguely pleased with herself that she wrote it. She shouldn't settle for scraps all the time, and the longer she does, the less people seem inclined to give her. She's never had any desire to see herself as "the squeaky wheel," but there's no denying that her constant acquiescence is making her situation unbearable, as the neglected, and worse: increasingly _naggy_ , wheel who invariably comes up short. 

She's beginning to take a stand: "not like _that_ , and certainly not with _me_." It's a start. It won't be easy going. People rarely welcome it when their doormat goes walkabout. ( _She wonders if that's too harsh, and maybe it is, but it isn't all that far off the mark either_.)

She sends the young barn owl off towards the Burrow with her letter to Arthur, and still completely out of sorts makes her way to lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter:**  
>  Lunch is eaten, or not, shopping happens, and someone tries their hand at a spot of B&E. Forsooth!
> 
> **Quotes and such:**  
>  "Therein lies the rub" is actually the colloquial form, and considered a misquote, of Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1, Hamlet's soliloquy on suicide: "To die - to sleep. To sleep perchance to dream: Ay, there’s the rub. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come" The term "rub" in this sense originates from the English game of bowls, in which a rub was a fault in the green's surface, which could divert a bowl from its intended direction. Bummer.
> 
> That's also from the famous "to be or not to be" speech, and shortly before the "nunnery" bit I like.
> 
> Shakespeare, "Taming of the Shrew" Act III, Scene 2, Katherina: "Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure." 
> 
> The William Congreve quote is from "The Old Batchelor" or "The Old Bachelor" (depending on print) from 1693. "Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: Married in haste, we may repent at leisure."


	12. Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch is eaten, or not, shopping happens, and someone tries their hand at a spot of B&E. Forsooth!

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  JKR owns the lot. I own bugger all, and shan't profit in the least. Except for kudos and comments, both of which are appreciated, as is your reading. Ta! 
> 
> **Previously:**  
>  Hermione recently told Severus about her parents, still obliviated with no memory of her, and he decided to dig a bit deeper but didn't mention it. Because of course not. 
> 
> Harry wrote to tell her that Severus is investigating her parents' problem and has asked Arthur for information, as yet not provided. Hermione may have had a thing or two to say about that, little of it nice, much of it snippy, all of it as yet not owled. She's not a happy camper. But then, she's grown to really hate camping. 
> 
> Severus and Hermione are both coping with caffeine withdrawal, more or less stubbornly, respectively, although Severus' mood may be more severely influenced by the protracted student discussion of his recent bout of laughter. Poor thing. 
> 
> And Hermione has decided on a Christmas present for the beleaguered Potions Master. 
> 
> **A/N:**  
>  So I'm trying an experiment, and feedback would help. There's a bit of local color, background and a couple of original characters in this chapter, some of which I need for later but much is just to flesh out their world. I looked at the thickness of the HP books and decided people here probably weren't adverse to reading, and world building was something _I_ always appreciated. But that's just me. **If you would be so kind and let me know how that works for _you_ , it would really help.** (Especially as I'm working on the ball scene atm.) Thanks again.  
>  xox Ginger 
> 
> **ETA: EEK! Bowman is canon, folks. Just realized that might not come across *at all*. Sorry. I did a bunch of research (insomniac) to see who I could borrow for my story, but didn't want to force readers to do the same (reading shouldn't be homework) because he's so minor, so I repeated the info on him here. Marcus, Herewig and Helga are my OCs. (And Helga's niece is canon, but not fleshed out.)**
> 
>   
> 

### Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 6

**-~HG/SS~-**

**Hogwarts, Saturday 23rd December, Lunch, Hermione**

She picks at her food, hardly eating. 

She's agitated. There's no better word for it. Her hair is even crackling with accidental wandless magic, growing steadily bushier with each passing moment and thought. It hasn't been this bad in years, although the locks at least have a heavier weight and remain more or less in place. At least there's _that_ to be said for them. ( _Ronald actually had_ plenty _to say for them_. ' _But none of it_ good.') She sits there deflated next to Severus with her hair bristling, inexorably, relentlessly increasing in volume. 

He mistakes her agitation for a caffeine withdrawal of the first order, and considers that possibly he should provide her with a suitable potion, or ten. In the final analysis, this latest house elf fiasco was his doing after all. And _this_ , he thinks whilst watching her fidget, on top of a cold, will never do. But he hesitates to draw more attention to himself and their interactions in front of the students in light of the rumors already circulating about him and the... _laughter_. He wouldn't want to appear _solicitous_ on top of everything else. Perhaps he'll Floo something over later. Or have an elf sort it. He snorts faintly thinking _that_ would surely ruffle her feathers more than it would help. 

She doesn't notice. 

She's conflicted. She's a mess. She's mad at Harry. Hell, she's mad at _Ronald_ , and he didn't even _do_ anything except loan Harry his owl, although since the war she has come to the conclusion that a person's inaction is justification enough to be angry at them. She generally considers _that_ shift in assessment progress, but still, Ron hasn't actually done (' _or not done_ ') anything today. (She's not entirely sure how anyone could do _and_ not do something simultaneously, but she's certain if anyone could, that would describe Ronald to a "T.")

She's disappointed in _Arthur_ for not just answering Severus as quickly as possible. Then she desperately tries not to hold caution against him, and decides she's saddened that he turned to Harry and not her directly. Or didn't feel that he could. It's all such a _mess_. 

She's _completely_ floored that Severus is helping her, and she can't stop looking at him only to tear her gaze away so he won't think she's staring. Which she absolutely was, but... 

There's something going on with him, too. He's grumpy. (' _Well, more than usual_.') She wonders if it could be caffeine withdrawal after all? (' _Nonsense, he'd have taken a potion_.') Or if it's to do with the student... whatever it was? She can't help noticing that he's still glaring at them. (' _Well,_ again _, more than usual_.') And he really doesn't seem to want to make eye contact with her. Could he be _this_ mad about his tea? Entirely possible, but that still doesn't seem to line up with his reaction quite right, and she's becoming even more troubled the longer she thinks about it. 

She returns to her quarters more confused than before, but with a bit of ham in hand for the _still_ (' _if not patiently_ ') waiting Pig. 

**-~HG/SS~-**

**Hogwarts, Saturday 23rd December, Afternoon, Hermione**

As has become abundantly clear to her in the last couple of days, she hasn't a surfeit of friends, or even people who care. She can't even _think_ that without wincing. So maybe she is a bit overeager not to alienate those few that _do_ care any more than necessary. But then she always has been a bit keen, really. ( _As well as friend-poor, come to think of it_. ' _Ouch_.') 

So she adds "dubious tea blend" to her shopping list for the afternoon, making a note to herself to ask one of the elves first what exactly Severus drinks. Vaguely she supposes this once again creates work for them, and wonders if simply brewing the tea is less work than the effort involved in explaining the process to her, and lies unsuccessfully to herself that a conversation with her is less a chore than making tea. _That_ reflects her mood. But remembering she has a nice thermos mug in her kitchen, although charms should render that function, or another mug's lack thereof, somewhat moot, she brightens a bit as she considers that she could provide Severus with tea (' _sludge_ ') service in the mornings. Perhaps that would help. 

The thought of it, coupled with the hints of images of caretaking and the idea that he might trust her enough to drink a beverage she proffered certainly cheers her further. At worst, he'd inconspicuously vanish it, and she'd never be the wiser. At this point, that would still be sufficiently beneficial for her fragile ego. She believes she'll take a win no matter how specious. She's wrong, but there's little point in telling her that now. 

Thinking some more about friends she could be inconveniencing, she quickly adds a black pudding for Minerva and Edradour whisky marmalade for Filius to her growing shopping list. And now she's not sure if that would be something she could or should bring with her to the Great Hall to breakfast, or how best to manage this. And the message that sends to the students? And on top of Severus' tea? Things are rarely quite as simple as one believes on setting out. 

Her thoughts race and leap around quite a bit. She can't help thinking again and again, with no small degree of amazement, that Severus has apparently decided to take a look at her problem, and what that might possibly mean. Could there actually be any hope for her parents? And really, isn't just the fact that he's willing to look into it important enough in itself? She genuinely can't believe he would trouble himself for her, but it makes her feel... _good_. Good, and a bit _hopeful_ , although that hope is somewhat ill-defined. And somehow... risky. 

The issue, she senses, is that she _isn't_ merely hopeful that his efforts might help her parents. _Obviously_ that would be brilliant; that's not in question. But she's spent so long without a hint of hope now, and so long before that trying desperately _not_ to get her hopes up only to see them dashed again, that, truth be told, she isn't even able to fully explore hope in _that_ context at this time. So the reasons for this strangely hopeful sensation in the pit of her stomach are indeed very interesting. And as she tentatively investigates them, she realizes that what she's actually hoping is that some _significance_ can be attached to his _decision_ to help her. _Why_ has he chosen to do this? And there it is again, that traitorous flutter of hope, deep, deep down in her belly. 

She tries to avoid _that_ particular line of thought and give herself some more time to calm down and return to her senses (' _if sensible_ ') before dispatching Pig with that scroll to Harry. Or at least that's what she tells herself, but maybe she just can't seem to stop thinking about _him_ , and so she decides to distract herself with thoughts of the Potion Master's Christmas present. Her previous idea was _good_ , but now, knowing he's investigating her parents' situation, it doesn't feel like it's _enough_. Too mean, too stingy by far. And then she has a brilliant idea, and begins to sketch, quickly yielding a result she finds so much more than satisfactory. 

Having put it off as long as she can, she still needs to head into Hogsmeade after all, she considers her letter to Harry one last time. She remains reasonably (' _or unreasonably_ ') satisfied with her response and gives it to Pig and, with a last treat for the way, sends him off.

And a good thing she did, too, because that's the last treat he shall get for a while. 

**-~oOo~-**

**Out and About, Saturday 23rd December, Afternoon and Evening, Pigwidgeon**

Pig wings it towards the Burrow, sensibly, as that's where Harry can now be found. By the time Pig gets there, however, Harry and Ron will have apparated back to Grimmauld Place to change for the ball, not having brought their dress robes to the Burrow. Pig will dutifully fly off after them, only to arrive after they've Flooed to the Ministry, and the poor little owl will again set off hot on their heels. Once he reaches the Ministry this evening, he'll be incredibly frustrated to find that the Auror Office has set new security measures in place for the Yule Ball, and that he'll be unable to deliver his parchment or in fact to reach anyone in the building whatsoever. 

Severus would of course have a great deal to say, none of it good, but much of it highly amused, about the inherent stupidity of having the entire upper echelon of the Ministry incommunicado for a security measure at a _ball_ , of all things. Fortunately for all egos involved, he is not consulted or even aware of the matter. Truly it would have provided him with no end of amusement, as well as with added fodder for his ongoing litany about the deficiencies of the DADA program, which organically feeds into the training of the Aurors.

When Harry Floos back to Grimmauld Place at the end of the event, Pig will once again set off after him. As the owl's luck, miserable indeed, holds, Harry will have naturally apparated on to the Burrow after changing out of his dress robes and gathering his things before Pig arrives. The poor owl, _his_ feathers now well and truly ruffled, will throw in the proverbial towel for the rest of the night and, completely fed up, find a nice branch to kip until morning. 

**-~HG/SS~-**

**Hogsmeade, Saturday 23rd December, Afternoon, Hermione**

Hermione doesn't wish to rush about her errands, so it's time to get going. She gathers her shopping list, basket, beaded bag, winter clothing and accessories. Almost looking forward to this rare trip off campus, she gets appropriately dressed, sets her wards and leaves her rooms. On her way out, she meets a few students who yell their greetings in passing as they rush off to their extracurricular DADA practice sessions, laughing and still very much overexcited, probably about the holidays or maybe a snowball fight. She makes her way out of the castle to the gates. 

The weather is pleasant. It may be frightfully cold but it's calm, and Warming Charms and winter cloaks should more than sort the temperature. The snow, however, is just far too deep to make walking through it particularly appealing on an uncleared path, so when she leaves the grounds, she apparates to Hogsmeade. 

Hermione collects herself as she reappears. She still doesn't like the sensation of apparating, but she suspects no one does. Thinking of alternatives, she wonders if there mightn't be a way to keep from sinking into the snow in the first place, sort of like magical snowshoes, beyond just transfiguring her boots again. Or perhaps one could hover, which would also solve the footprint issue she still hasn't figured out. It bears thinking about, so she does. 

Hermione doesn't come to Hogsmeade often. Point of fact, she very rarely leaves the castle grounds. She had the choice once she finished her apprenticeship last August ( _and if she'd pushed for it, probably even before then_ ) to move to Hogsmeade and not remain living in Hogwarts. She's not a head of house, and she isn't required to live there. But she has a good deal more privacy behind the school's gates, her celebrity causes hardly a stir on campus, and she vastly prefers the company. Really. 

Additionally, room and board are provided at Hogwarts, and although Hogsmeade rents hardly rival London's, they aren't exactly low either. Whilst she undeniably saves a good deal ( _perhaps some day, in the distant future, she'll buy a cottage_ ), it's in the school's interests to coax as many staff members as possible into living there, as that provides them with the warm bodies (' _well, warm except for the ghosts_ ') to manage whatever mischief the students throw at them. Having been one of the more challenging students herself, she now has a well earned appreciation for the problems faculty face. And how much could an appetite like hers actually cost the school? (' _It would be another matter entirely if they had to feed Ronald_...' _That could get pricey indeed_. ' _And messy_.') 

Looking around, she can't help noticing how greatly Hogsmeade has changed since her first visit here all those years ago. After the first Wizarding War the town remained largely untouched, constant, until the Death Eaters came again. Then many shops had had to close their doors. Many of those never reopened. Some of the shopkeepers pulled up stakes and went elsewhere. Some even fled the United Kingdom for good, mostly to continental Europe and Canada. And more than a few died in the last war. But even if many of the shops are no longer the same, new shops have opened, replacing the old, and they are flourishing and clearly well tended. Hogsmeade is thriving. Or it is if you live in the present and can let go of the past. That's not always easy. 

Her first stop is the jeweler's, because she knows her ask has become a good deal more complex than the hair clip she had initially conceived, and she wants to allow as much time as possible for it. She now has an idea that, coupled with goblin-wrought silver, she is confident should prove a success. The jeweler's sign advertises that he is a distant descendent of Bowman Wright, of Golden Snitch fame, and the approach there is not all too different to what she's after. That aspect, combined with the conservation efforts of the original Wright, wins her over and she enters the shop. 

Several hundred years ago, in either the 14th or 16th century, depending on whether one trusts "Quidditch Through the Ages," which she had gifted Ronald for his 19th birthday nearly two years ago ( _and she starts suddenly realizing that was her last present to him_ ), or the Famous Wizard Cards (' _although F &B's research can be spotty_...'), Bowman Wright had created the first snitch for use in quidditch, replacing the endangered Golden Snidget in the game. This master stroke of metal charming practically single-handedly saved the Snidget from extinction. 

Master Marcus Wright is a tall strawberry-blonde wizard with a more than passing resemblance to one third of the Golden Trio that he seems happy to exploit in suggestive decorations and advertising materials, he himself apparently favoring robes reminiscent of Ron's old Auror's (' _training_ ') uniform. Hermione has trouble suppressing a smirk. (' _Oddly, he looks nothing like his forebear, who judging by the portrait more closely resembles a bearded Harry_.' _She quickly decides that Harry should_ never _grow a beard_.) She is absolutely positive the red and gold tones in Wright's store are a recent addition, and his haircut will also hardly have been left to chance. 

Hermione is highly amused, yet relieved, in light of that to note that he doesn't seem to recognize her (' _that's something else that can be said for the locks_...'). But she underestimates the difference adulthood, years of stress, and even her dark green winter cloak makes, as it's not the color people are used to seeing her in from the old Prophet articles. Were she to remotely suspect as much, she would happily incendio every red item in her wardrobe. It's also possible that most of the aspects of her design have him thinking along lines more "Slytherin" than "Gryffindor," quite rightly, considering the intended recipient. 

Hermione also finds it interesting that her initial reaction to the metal charmer is less than overwhelmingly positive, probably because he's chosen to emulate Ronald (' _of all people_ '). She resolves to try not to hold it against him. (' _Or anything else_.' _Well now she's just being mean_...) And as she thinks that, she realizes that she's not altogether sure if it's stemming from her ambivalence towards Ronald, or her growing interest in someone else. (' _Goodness_.') 

She swallows. She's doing that a lot lately.

As she expects, he is quick to inform her that the timing is tight for the goblins' silver, which is fair enough, but _of course_ it's nothing that can't be done for a price. That's characteristic of the goblins at any rate, and of Master Wright as well she suspects. As frugal as she's been these past two years ( _when would she have had occasion to spend her money, and on what or why_?) that's really not an issue in the least. Additionally, her willingness to pay more increases with her certainty that the gift is _precisely_ what she is after, and even then, it truly isn't all too costly. She'd very gladly have paid more. 

They discuss her sketches, the details of her designs, and quickly come to a mutually agreeable arrangement. Master Wright assures her the finished product shall be owled to her tomorrow, a Sunday no less, but that doesn't make the least bit of difference to the goblins. (' _Or owls, for that matter_.') She's quietly impressed by their turn around time, which means she won't have to compromise her design. When she leaves her details for owling, her suspicions about not having been recognized are confirmed as he startles in recognition at her name and gives her an appraising look. 

She's still smirking as she exits the store. 

Next she enters the tea shop and apothecary. The view of the towering assortment of ingredients, finished potions, salves and tinctures, only held in gravity-defying place by a series of spells, in tiny shops such as this is still staggering after all this time. Outside of the wizarding world, it violates at least a half a dozen building codes. Probably far more. She begins to smile just from the sight of it. 

The new proprietor, a diminutive and, as becomes quickly apparent, highly intelligent half-goblin with frightfully hairy ears, is only able to access much of his stock thanks to magic, although examining the height of the displays, Hermione suspects that would be true for anyone. Unlike Master Wright, he recognizes her immediately. When he greets her by name and introduces himself as Potions Master Herewig, Hermione has a devil of a time not laughing having understood "Earwig" by mistake. At least it should prove easy to remember. 

The smells in the shop war with the sights, coming a very close second. Hogwarts' elves have supplied her with details as to Severus' blend of choice, after a bit of a search it is found, two packets are quickly floated to the register, and then she sets out looking for a pleasant and relaxing chamomile and lavender blend for Poppy. 

The shop has an excellent selection, allowing the customer to blend their own mix. Hermione is appreciative of the recess provided for this purpose, as it is charmed to isolate the scents, and she thinks she has hit on a combination that should please the Matron. Spying some catnip just as she's almost finished, she adds that to the other things, pays the proprietor and rejoins the bustle of last-minute shoppers out on the streets. 

With her purchases tucked into her basket, she sets out next for the delicatessen to find Minerva and Filius' nibbles of choice and a few treats for Crooks and Mrs. Norris. And then she's off to Scribner's for handmade paper, the quill set for Minerva, and the book on Origami for Draco. A quick browse through the book convinces her that she likes it so much, she purchases one for herself as well. That's always a good sign that the choice was right. ( _It might have been a tiny folded paper doe that sold her on it._ ) 

She makes a last stop by Honeydukes for sweets for Sybill (' _sherry-filled truffles, what else_?') and some toffees for Helga that Madam Flume had warmly recommended. She pauses and then decides to add a small box of marc de champagne truffles for Mrs. Malfoy too ( _as long as she's sending something to Draco anyway_ ), and then she's all set for Christmas. 

Satisfied and quite pleased with her efforts and how the day shaped up, she leaves Honeydukes and avoids the crowds by immediately apparating back to the Hogwarts gates. As she makes her way up the main path to the castle, she thinks some more about the footprint problem, having now discerned three different avenues of attack she'd like to research. It's lovely having a few days free to devote to silly things like this that catch her fancy, and she finds she is enjoying the challenge. Her basket beginning to grow heavy, she casts a lightening charm on it until she reaches her rooms, in a _much_ better mood than when she'd left. 

That is until she reaches her door. 

She can feel it quite plainly, her wards have been breached. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter:**  
>   Hermione investigates the break-in, and Arthur gets an owl and a clue.
> 
> **Quotes and such:**  
>  **"Pulling up stakes"** is apparently the first uniquely American expression. "The terms 'pull up stakes' or 'pluck up stakes' aren't recorded in the home country of the settlers, that is, England, prior to 1640 and so are authentic American coinage. If we ignore 'mother country', which is known prior to its American usage, then 'pull up stakes' is the earliest known example of a phrase that was coined in America." phrases.org.uk


	13. Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione investigates the break-in, Arthur gets an owl and a clue, paper gets folded, and wards are discussed. Most thoroughly.

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  JKR owns the lot. I own bugger all, and shan't profit in the least. Except for kudos and comments, both of which are appreciated, as is your reading. Ta! 
> 
> **I'm seriously floored by the number of hits and kudos. Thanks so much, people!**
> 
> **Previously:**  
>  Hermione discovers someone has been in her chambers while she was out. 
> 
> Severus has asked Arthur for information about the spells performed on Hermione's parents; as yet Arthur hasn't supplied it. Instead he thought asking Harry what to do would be a good idea. Hermione disabused him of this notion as politely as possible. 
> 
> Severus and Hermione are both coping with caffeine withdrawal, more or less stubbornly, respectively, although Severus' mood may be more severely influenced by the protracted student discussion of his recent bout of laughter. Poor thing. 
> 
> **Happy Valentines'!**
> 
> **A/N:**  
>  **In case you didn't see the edit in the last chapter: I realized after the fact that it might not have come across *at all* that Bowman Wright (of golden Snitch fame ;-)) is a canon character. Sorry. My sincere apologies for that.**
> 
> **I did a bunch of research (insomniac) to see who I could borrow for/ use in my story, but didn't want to force readers to do the same because he's so terribly minor (reading shouldn't be homework), so I repeated the info on him here. Basically as a bonus for folks who know more than I, without trying to penalize those less familiar with the various works.**
> 
> **Marcus, Herewig and Helga are my OCs. (Helga's niece Heidi is also canon, btw, but not fleshed out beyond "Hufflepuff" and "quidditch player," which is pretty darn thin if you ask me, but enough to build on. ;-))**
> 
>   
> 

### Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 7

**-~HG/SS~-**

**Hogwarts, Saturday 23rd December, Afternoon, Hermione**

She's in a _much_ better mood when she arrives back at her rooms than when she'd left. 

That is until she reaches her door. 

She can feel it quite plainly, her wards have been breached. Not just an attempt; someone has been _successful_ and plowed straight through her wards. That shouldn't have been easy. To be fair, they weren't her very best work, that takes far too long for day to day use and setting wards at all was more a matter of habit than of active defense. It's also perfectly sufficient just to be warned. ' _There's no safer place than Hogwarts, right? Except maybe Gringotts_ ,' and she laughs to herself despite her heightened alarm. That's one of her ways of dealing with stress these days, letting her now considerably darker humor run free.

Wand in hand, she sets her basket down outside her chambers and guards it almost reflexively with an Anti-theft Charm. Then she affixes the strap of her beaded bag securely diagonally across her chest and pushes open the portrait to her rooms, cautiously edging her way in. Before she's gone two steps she sees it. There in the middle of her floor, a small wooden box, wide open, containing a variety of what from this distance seem to be potions, made all the more noticeable by a veritable fountain of glittering white sparks shooting up two meters in the air from its center, probably triggered by her movement or proximity. (' _It'll be_ my _proximity, otherwise Crookshanks would have set it off_.') She'd have taken the Roman candle for a W3 product were it not so tasteful. Unquestionably hard to miss. Someone clearly didn't wish to alarm her unnecessarily. This seems somehow familiar, and she thinks back to Severus calling out so as not to startle her as he disillusioned outside the Fae's glade.

She approaches less cautiously now, reasonably certain she knows what she's facing, and sure enough, there's a note clearly affixed to the box sealed with a green waxen "SS." A quick spell determines she has nothing else here to be concerned about, and that no threat emanates from the note itself, although that would have been _extremely_ unlikely, and she tears it open, eager to see what the Potions Master has to say.

> Professor Granger,
> 
> I noticed at lunch that you seemed a bit under the weather. I have taken the liberty of putting together a selection of potions which may prove of use. It would be a pity were you to be indisposed for the holidays. 

She can't help grinning like a dafty at this. It was just a couple of hours ago she had entertained visions of caring for _him_ , so _this_ feels _very_ nice indeed.

> Please forgive the intrusion and the breaking of your wards. 

_This_ , on the other hand, makes her nervous. She remains convinced, although she's mistaken, that he was mocking her for leaving footprints behind in the snow the other evening. She knows he is more skilled and has far more defense training and experience than she does, and she's a bit sensitive. She's also proud and doesn't wish for him to find her ridiculous or pitiable. She continues reading uneasily.

> On discovering they were set, a rarity worthy of note and commendation I must add, I considered sending a house elf with the potions. In light of your meal simplification efforts on their behalves, however, I thought that you would prefer this solution instead. 

He's correct, and she's pleased to see he considered her feelings in the matter. It doesn't occur to her for a moment that had he not explained how his reasoning actually _respected_ her wishes, or were she less _fond_ of the man, that she would have been positively _outraged_ at the incursion. Intention is often everything, and vantage point is undoubtedly much of the rest. 

And _then_ he continues with a couple of statements that leave her head _spinning_.

> You should know that your wards are the third strongest in the castle, surpassed only by Minerva's and mine own, and Minerva as Headmistress has the advantage of the castle providing assistance. This is true of your wards in general, and not simply at the moment, when your chief competition could perhaps be seen as Sybill. 

She can just hear his smirk as she reads that.

Then he proceeds with a surprisingly detailed analysis of what worked on her wards and what didn't and how best to easily improve them, and she's... well, she's terribly _pleased_ , really. Sure, it's a bit like a return to his DADA classroom, except far more _flattering_. But if she's honest, she's never stopped grading herself either, and this is right up her alley. It's intelligent and insightful, and she's _better_ for having read it. 

Another side effect of the war has been a loss of certainty; she feels less secure these days. She practices regularly with the DADA applied study groups to keep a wand in and her skills sharp. She wonders if he might be persuaded to participate, because she knows she could learn so much more from _him_.

Finally he asks if she'd care to try a series of reciprocative tests, and he's signed it simply: "S.S." She grins. So no "Professor" then?

And she can't get the smile off her face, sorting through the potions he's sent. It's actually quite revealing of what _he's_ thinking. There's something to increase appetite, so he'll have observed her pushing her food around on her plate. The Calming Draught shows he noticed her agitation. (' _Although that probably_ would _have been hard to miss_.') The Invigorating Draught would indicate he suspects a lack of caffeine to be the cause. There's a even a Sleeping Draught which speaks volumes to the _degree_ of agitation she had on display. (' _Oh dear_.')

She's grinning like a loon. That is until she spots the Pepper Up cold remedy and Vitamix amongst the potions, and begins to wonder why he might suppose she needs them. And then it occurs to her that he must have noticed her sniffing about him. She blushes a very becoming shade of rose, but decides that if he's taken it for a cold, ultimately she's escaped notice. She doesn't realize the flaw in her logic, that the only notice she can feel confident she's escaped is _his_ , but perhaps that was all that mattered.

Her grin returning, she considers how best to respond to his care package.

**-~oOo~-**

**The Burrow, Saturday 23rd December, Arthur**

Hermione had no way of knowing that her thoughts as to which owl to send to Arthur were utterly for the birds, so to speak, because when Severus dispatched _his_ owls, _he_ made no such considerations and Molly had already recognized the old tawny owl that swooped in to the Burrow yesterday and interrogated Arthur accordingly. It had helped considerably that he was able to truthfully reassure her that the owl was _not_ from Hermione, rather from another Order member, and left it at that. Severus naturally would also have been a tricky topic, particularly as his specific request would most certainly have been poorly received by Molly, had Arthur mentioned it. The exchange did serve to highlight for him how unwelcome even the _thought_ of the poor young woman had become in his home. He hadn't quite realized the extent of the problem before, the process occurring in stages he'd barely registered. 

When Hermione's unexpected, and indeed unrecognized, owl finally arrives at the Burrow, gliding in right under Molly's nose, and Arthur reads her scroll, well, he begins to understand everything more fully. 

The first and most obvious realization is that she's at Hogwarts. Now. For _Christmas_. He gives it a bit of thought, of course he knows she isn't a Head of House, so she wouldn't have _had_ to stay, and finds himself considering if she had anywhere _else_ to go. That's naturally followed by wondering why she's no longer _here_ with them at the Burrow for the holidays, although Molly's reaction to even the possibility of an _owl_ from the young lady answers that question to some extent. 

What it doesn't explain is "why?" 

Considering it some more, it occurs to him that she hasn't been here for the holidays in quite some time. Long enough, as a matter of fact, that he's having trouble pinpointing when she was last there. Although at the time he'd attributed it to her accelerated program of study, he's now seriously questioning when she was last actually _invited_. Surely she would have been able to join them, if only for the occasional meal, no matter how busy her schedule, wouldn't she? If she had been made to feel _welcome_. And he finds that thought incredibly sad, and can't stop puzzling over where it all went wrong.

He decides he'd like to get to the bottom of this. 

Casual inquiry of Ron and Harry, who arrived after work with George yesterday to stay for the weekend, "What's Hermione doing for the holidays?" reveals that neither one has the faintest idea what Hermione's holiday plans are. Nor does George, and Ginny seems outright _offended_ at the hint of a notion that she should _care_ what Hermione is doing. 

Well, that was unexpected.

An additional question or two directed at Harry further brings to light that he can't seem to recall when he even last _owled_ Hermione, and Arthur begins to suspect the depths of the error of his approach to the issue of Severus' questions, and the impression that must have made on Hermione. 

He decides to address that shortcoming and write to the witch in question immediately. 

**-~oOo~-**

> The Burrow,  
>  Saturday 23rd December
> 
> Hermione,
> 
> Thank you for your owl. I am sorry, dear, that I did not contact you about Severus' request directly. You are quite right, I should have done, for a variety of reasons. You are a grown witch, a resourceful and extremely competent young woman (but of course, you've always been that), this concerns _your_ family, and the decisions are entirely yours to take. 
> 
> This was not a matter to be discussed behind your back, and in fact I only consulted Harry because he happened to be here. I thought he would have a better idea of your feelings about this, and am saddened to hear he doesn't. But all decisions rest with _you_. Believe me, I never meant to suggest otherwise.
> 
> Please know also how sorry I am that no one has been able to solve this problem yet. I can't tell you how much I wish Severus will succeed where we have failed, for I know _exactly_ how important family is, and can only _begin_ to imagine your loss. I am so very sorry, dear. 
> 
> Rest assured I will sit down immediately after writing this and put together all my thoughts and notes on our unfortunately failed attempts to recover your parents' memories. I shall owl them to Severus this very evening. I won't leave the Burrow until it is complete. 
> 
> It is a source of great regret for me that we couldn't solve this problem for you before now, and that you've been left waiting so long. I will do my (very small) part now to make sure it shan't be delayed a day longer. 
> 
> I only hope that it helps Severus somehow. If you need anything, if _either_ of you require anything, please know that you can rely on me to lend any assistance I am able to.
> 
> I wish you both the best of luck in this endeavor and a Happy Christmas. 
> 
> All my best,  
>  Arthur

He sets out to find an owl, and it occurs to him as Pig is still MIA that he'll need another later to send the information on to Severus, or it would have to wait until tomorrow after all.

**-~SS/HG~-**

**Hogwarts, Saturday 23rd December, Afternoon, Severus**

Severus is seated at his desk, deep in research on how to reverse an obliviate and sorting through the related owls he has received, when his Floo flares to life and a small (' _and apparently paper_ ') doe leaps from the fireplace and cavorts into his rooms. It's positively captivating. In a series of tiny jumps, it hops onto his papers before unfolding itself to reveal a response from Hermione. (' _Professor Granger_.') Professor Granger.

He had left his Floo unwarded as long as he was here working in the hope that she might send him a response, and she hasn't disappointed. (' _But she rarely does_.' ' _Indeed_.' He's not even sure which voice is which.) He is aware that this is possibly a poor solution to avoid attracting further attention to their interactions, but if it solves the immediate problem of maintaining contact with her (he doesn't ask why _that_ is a priority), whilst not feeding the rumor mill... He gains time to find a suitable approach for the longer term. This will do for now.

He was (' _a bit_ ') concerned that she might not appreciate his breaching her wards. To counterbalance that, he had explained his reasoning and made the effort to sincerely praise the aspects of her wards that worked (' _external, and theoretically objective, confirmation of their worth_ ' he can't help grinning) and provide a considered and constructive feedback as to their weaknesses. He referenced a spell or two he was fairly confident, based on those she had used, that she wouldn't have known, but is equally certain she shall by dinner, if the library has anything to contribute. If not, he has a text he would be happy to loan her.

She is nothing if not eager to learn.

Attempting to appear casual in his reading of her note, although the only one here to fool is himself, but perhaps _he_ was the one that mattered in this instance, he's pleased to see she seemed glad to have been sent the potions. She thanks him quite enthusiastically (' _naturally_ ' ' _for_ her'), also for the critique of her wards, and actually poses some highly intelligent questions on how best to set them. (He's more relieved at this response than he'd care to admit, having second and third guessed himself ever since.) She has included an overview of her more elaborate wards, and (' _quite reasonably_ ') points out the issues with their complexity. He finds himself looking forward to a discussion of some of the points she's raised.

Perhaps at dinner tonight.

**-~SS/HG~-**

**Hogwarts, Saturday 23rd December, Dinner, Severus**

By dinner, more similar than they suspect, they've both accomplished a fair amount of research and are _both_ looking forward to seeing one another. Hermione more visibly so than Severus, given the smile she flashes him as she enters the Great Hall, but in addition to being the more open of the two, she's not the subject of widespread speculation at the moment. That _does_ weigh on a person.

In the Headmistress' absence, he takes his seat in Minerva's chair to Hermione's right, with Helga to his. A few of the upper classmen can't suppress reflexive gasps at the sight of him there, memories of the year he was Headmaster and regularly occupied this chair flooding back. Even if their understanding of him at the time was wrong, their fears were no less real. But satisfied as everyone (' _apparently_ ') now is that his intentions then were... good, _they_ are soon able to move past these unbidden thoughts. _He_ , however, can't help noticing their reactions all the same, and that too burdens him. 

Things are vastly improved from that first year after the war. (' _But of course they are_ ,' at the time they had considered sending him to Azkaban. ' _So clearly this is an improvement_.' ' _Dementors. Gryffindors. Is there really any difference_?' ' _Don't be foolish. There aren't even any Dementors in Azkaban anymore_.' ' _Then I believe you have just made my case_ for _me_.' The sap recognizes facetiousness when he hears it and doesn't bother to reply.) He's reasonably certain he's currently Deputy Headmaster instead of Filius due to some plan to reintegrate him on Minerva's part. It never occurs to him that although that might well be the case, he has also _earned_ the position.

Hermione having been absent that year will never fully understand what transpired between him and those students. In some ways though, it makes her more pleasant company, because she _never_ has _that_ particular image of him in her thoughts, even if only fleetingly, and he finds that a very welcome relief. Minerva, Filius and Poppy all see in him the student he was, the Death Eater he became, followed in turns by the colleague, and then perceived murderer, betrayer, torturer and tyrant. None of _them_ can see him without also feeling guilty for their misperceptions of him that fateful year, even Longbottom. Hermione experienced almost none of that, and of all his colleagues, she sees him perhaps mostly closely for who he _is_ today. Even without all her other sterling attributes, that would be sufficient to recommend her.

Things are rather quiet at their table with only the three of them present. Hermione senses that Severus is still avoiding her, which she is having trouble reconciling with the considerate potions package he sent this afternoon. She's lost in thought, trying to decide how best to lure him into conversation when an owl she recognizes swoops in. It's Percy's screech owl Hermes, and for a brief moment, failing utterly to learn her lesson, she again hopes that the Weasleys are contacting her. She can be excused for that mistake, as the owl indeed appears to be headed directly for her, only swerving at the last moment to land in front of Severus. 

It hasn't escaped her notice that the past day or so he seems to be receiving _far_ more owls than usual, and given the significance of Hermes, of all owls, she now has a sneaking suspicion that this might be related to the enquiries Harry mentioned about the spells used on her parents. Those enquiries are apparently much further reaching than she had guessed, and she can't stop a sort of dazed grin from spreading across her face. 

Severus doesn't notice, either that she's watching him or her expression, as he's busy trying to get the parchment from Hermes with as little fuss as possible and hurry the owl out of here before Hermione registers any of it. It seems to be Arthur's reply, belated, but that's the Weasleys for you. Still, better late than never. He slips the parchment into his breast pocket, and with a morsel from his plate, he quickly sends the bird to the owlery for a rest. 

Poppy, however, arrives just in time to take in the scene. The other three staff members haven't been seated all that long when she joins them. She takes a seat next to Helga, having finally cleared the hospital wing as she's pleased to report.

"Are all the students recovered then?" Hermione asks.

"Well, Mr. Abercrombie had an exceptionally stubborn case of vegetized ear," Poppy responds. "Most trying, but he's on the mend. No hearing loss worth noting, certainly none worse than after a Weird Sisters concert without suitable auditory protection charms, or earmuffs," she continues with a slight huff, remembering with some frustration the completely unnecessary rush of students with sudden onset hearing loss in the wake of the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball, "and I was able to send him back to his housemates... Ah, here he comes now. No worse for wear, really, but he decidedly had the ears for it. Timid thing, no idea how he got sorted into Gryffindor. Don't imagine this will have helped his disposition any." 

Hermione is quite certain Poppy's correct and that will have been the case, but feels no need to agree with the Matron on that score where the students might overhear. Euan will doubtless be teased enough anyway, his rather prominent ears still faintly green post-treatment. Perhaps he can pass it off as seasonal, Hermione thinks doubtfully whilst watching him.

Encouraged now that he needn't break the ice, and trying to distract her from his breast pocket that her eyes keep darting towards when she's not studying the students, Severus leans over to ask Hermione, "Do you suppose broccoli ear is preferable to cauliflower ear?" 

"Again with the ears... You continue to surprise me." Truer words... "I'm unsure, but I imagine either or both are preferable to no ear." Her smirk is wicked. "But I suppose we could ask Poppy which of the two is worse."

"Poppy wouldn't know," he answers, definitively. "There are no pugilists in the wizarding world." 

"No, indeed, that's what punching telescopes are for..." Hermione trails off at the memory.

He looks at her oddly and she tells him it's a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes special, but perhaps not one she can wholeheartedly endorse. When he raises his brow in question, she simply reponds, "I was on the wrong end of one once." 

"Ah. I can imagine. Sort of a smokey eye effect then."

That gets her grinning, and she raises an eyebrow back at him, he smirks slightly, brings his hands up again in a deflecting gesture and volunteers "All the rage in the 80s," and winks.

"And at least once every half-decade since. Yes, the quintessential smokey eye, and if one isn't overly fond of symmetry, an absolutely perfect rendition at that. Made quite the impression, if not an outright dent. Like I said, can't recommend the experience." 

"Suffering builds character."

"That explains _so much_..." she answers giving him a pointed look, and then retreats to safer ground with a slightly playful, "I like to think I'm character rich as is."

"I would tend to agree that you are."

They let the silence stretch, not uncomfortably, for a moment, listening to Helga ask Poppy questions about the treatment of the recently injured Hufflepuff, Miss Zeller. Snippets of conversation can still be caught from the students, for some reason they're arguing about Imperiuses. And a poorly applied Cheering Charm. One of the Ravenclaws seated with the Slytherins mentions a laughing potion, and several of those around him, the Slytherins she notes ' _budding Potions Masters, the lot_ ', are scoffing about being able to taste the Alihotsy leaves and... being able to discern the residual texture of the Knarl's quills. Unless expertly brewed, that is, and eight sets of eyes tick to the Potions Master, in which case one should recognize the color or scent and... It's not making great amounts of sense to Hermione, but Severus' expression is once again darkening. Not wishing to fall back into the silence of the last day or so, she decides to engage him in further conversation to distract him.

"I wanted to thank you again for the potions. That was incredibly considerate."

"So you mentioned in your doe. Note."

"Dote?" she smiles. 

"Nice bit of Charms work, by the way. Enchanting. Can you make an otter?"

"Not yet. I only acquired the book this afternoon. I have a ways to go, yet."

"In which case I am doubly impressed. It was very well executed."

She positively beams at his praise, and again he can't help thinking no matter how poor her Warming Charms may be, that smile should render their need obsolete. He can feel his temperature rising just from a glance. But perhaps the common cold is immune to such... _charms_.

Getting just the hint of a clue, he thinks to ask, " _Is_ there an otter in the book?" and as she reddens in response, the feeling in the pit of his stomach is most pleasant.

"Um... I'm not entirely sure." She's chewing her lower lip in an enticing fashion, and her voice lowers slightly abashed as she proceeds, "I didn't get all that far..."

Before he can get carried away, he changes tack completely, "I did want to apologize again for breaching your wards."

"No need. No need at all. I thought it was very considerate of you not to have used an elf for the errand. I realize my views on them are far from universally shared..."

"I suspect you are quite right about that." He can't help smirking as he scans the tables for visible signs of dietary dissension. "Still. They are _your_ chambers, considering your wishes seemed only... appropriate."

And she's smiling again. Trying to recover and not just sit there like a robe-clad numpty, she swallows and struggles to continue, "I very much like the idea of mutually testing the wards, if you were serious about it."

"I believe 'serious' is considered one of my defining traits."

"And here I thought you and Padfoot had precious little in common."

He glares, but the glare can't hold up in the face of her winning smile. 

"So, third best in the castle, hmm?" She's beaming again. He merely nods in response, his expression softening. "And Minerva's wards are better than yours?" She grins impishly. 

"Most certainly not!" He almost begins to bristle, but genuinely can't as long as she keeps _that_ smile on her face. Still, his reaction is enough to amuse her. 

"Despite the castle working in her favor?" she does raise an eyebrow at this, sincerely curious. 

"I would venture that it is accurate to claim that I am a good deal less trusting than the castle. And perhaps more willing to avail myself of... ambiguous magic. As such, my wards are more... _robust_." 

"I'm tempted to say: 'challenge accepted,' but I suspect I need to learn quite a bit before that's feasible. And I'm not altogether certain a challenge was actually issued as such..." she trails off, fishing, just a tiny bit, for an actual invitation.

"Consider it issued, if it strikes your fancy. I am happy to provide scrolls and tomes, and even a reading list if you would find it helpful. Practice is never amiss. 'Nothing can come of nothing.'" 

Her grin in response to that is wide indeed. He can hear the eagerness in her reply, "I have set new pass phrases, for any eventuality, if we are to proceed." She waits until he takes a drink to resume. "Yours is 'it's Severus.'" And he chokes a bit, flummoxed, wondering why in Merlin's name she would give _him_ (' _of all people_ ') a pass phrase to her chambers (' _of all places_ '), or use his _given name_ for that matter, although he rather likes the sound of it when she says it... 

As he chokes, she's momentarily relieved she didn't go with the far cheekier 'Hi, honey, I'm home' after all. ' _A step too far_.' At least. ' _Wait for it_.' She's positively smiling like a mad woman, and his eyes narrow briefly as he coughs again. And then she pushes on, feeling a bit mischievous but instead dashing his budding vaguely pleasant response profoundly with a flippant, "but I doubt you'll need it." 

And his face visibly falls. (' _Why on earth give him a pass phrase if his presence isn't **wanted**_?') The hurt he feels at this catches him unprepared. 

She doesn't quite understand why he looks so crestfallen. That wasn't the reaction, or _any_ of the possible reactions, she had envisioned. She's instigating, no question, but not _at all_ along any lines he's apparently thinking, _whatever_ they could be. Hermione may be lonely, but she really hasn't much experience with rejection, per se, and sometimes it can be hard to put oneself in other people's shoes. She just assumed _this_ would be a challenge he'd be unable to refuse. And _that_ idea and its possible consequences she really rather liked. _Of course_ he wouldn't need the phrase, because he would just break the wards, wouldn't he? _Often_ , if she were lucky... But off of his reaction she feels a pressing need to explain that further. 

"I fully expect you to be able to breach them at will. If you _need_ to resort to a pass phrase, I shall be _very_ disappointed." She's using a mock strict tone, but there's her smile again. "But belt and braces, my dear sir, I wanted you to have one in any event. Wouldn't do to have _you_ locked out." And _that_ seems to finally be getting the reaction she'd hoped, if his expression is anything to go by. As Deputy Headmaster, if he were determined to enter her rooms, he wouldn't _need_ a pass phrase; the castle would work for him. This is her way of saying he's _welcome_. It's hardly surprising she needs to explain this; he's heard it so rarely that it's almost a foreign tongue.

"Of course you'll need to put some effort into the detectability of your work," she teases. "I could immediately tell you'd been there." 

He blinks. He just stares at her. His expression and tone are incredibly dry when he finally responds. "You realize that was my _intention_. Or did you take a shower of sparklers for _subtle_?" Both voices in his head are scoffing: ' _Gryffindors_ ' in unison. "I certainly did not want to unnecessarily worry you and thought it best that you should immediately recognize that someone had been there. In the absence of a Restorative Potion anything else would have been _most_ counterproductive..." 

And the two of them sink into a conversation on the efficacy of different wards, their practicality respective the difficulty to set and the time involved, their vulnerabilities to a varied assortment of attacks (sure enough, she had read up on the topic this afternoon; his pleasure is evident), and the two professors enjoy themselves and their evening _immensely_.

As the evening wears on, he begins to grin broadly, partly because this manor of exchange, the topic involved, and the future challenge it promises is precisely his idea of a good time. A _very_ good time, in fact. But mostly, though, because other than Minerva and Draco, no one has extended this level of trust to him in recent years. Or longer. He's incredibly moved. He lifts his glass to hide his grin, a far more effective disguise than when Hermione attempted the same this morning, because the apples of _his_ cheeks, fortunately for the composition of his face, haven't nearly the same prominence as _hers_ , but mostly because virtually everyone who sees the grin on his face takes it for something else entirely. Severus Snape doesn't grin. Therefore _that_ is anything but. Gas, maybe. A Dyspeptic Draught, perchance? And how wouldn't he have tasted the peppermint oil? Hmm? 

But Poppy knows better.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter:**  
>  The Ministry throws a party; a bunch of people go to the ball. Our heroes stay home and mope. (Yes, I actually thought that made for a better story. Just trust me.)
> 
> **Quotes and such:**  
>  **"Break the ice"** is another one of those phrases people like to attribute to Shakespeare. He certainly didn't coin it, and the only use of "ice" I could find coupled with any form of "break" in his works was in "the Taming of the Shrew" Act I, Scene 2, Tranio:
> 
> "If it be so, sir, that you are the man must stead us all, and me amongst the rest; and if you break the ice, and do this feat, achieve the elder, set the younger free for our access- whose hap shall be to have her will not so graceless be to be ingrate."
> 
> I'd also argue that its use here was in the earlier sense of the phrase, "to forge a path for others to follow," think boats, and not our modern understanding of the words (i.e. "do or say something to relieve tension or get a conversation going in socially awkward situations"). Debunked then.
> 
> **"Nothing can come of nothing"** "King Lear" Act I, Scene 1, Lear's line, followed immediately by the here unvoiced "Speak again." Which in my head Severus was totally thinking. ;-)


End file.
